James Aubrey and His Babysitting Adventure
by brennansboys
Summary: Set about two years in the future. While Booth and Brennan go out with the rest of the team on date night to celebrate some big changes in everybody's lives, Aubrey is left at their house to help babysit the kids. What happens next is... Well, you'll have to find out. Because everybody needs a bit of lighthearted fluff after THAT s11 finale, amirite? NOW A SERIES.
1. Date Night

**James Aubrey and His Babysitting Adventure**

 **This was originally supposed to be just a short one-shot in my series "for you are mine at last" (go read it if you haven't!), but it somehow became this 9.5k monstrosity. So** **…** **Yeah. Just a bit of fluff after last night's extremely intense and terrifying s11 finale.**

 **Enjoy!**

"Are you sure you're going to be able to handle this, Aubrey?" Booth asks sceptically as he knots his tie and watches the younger agent play Lego's on the floor of their living room with a three-year-old Hank.

"Of course I can," he says confidently. "The kids love me."

"I'm not disputing that. Just saying that looking after three kids can be a pain in the ass when you're alone with them."

Aubrey casually lifts one shoulder in a shrug. "I've done it before. Plus, they've already eaten and it won't be long before they're fast asleep and I can watch a couple of movies until you and Dr. B come home."

"OK. If you're sure."

"1000%," their babysitter asserts with a broad grin.

"Aubrey, I've told you this repeatedly. You cannot have a percentage higher than 100, it simply doesn't exist, so what you're saying is meaningless," comes Brennan's voice as she chastises Aubrey yet again for his hyperbolic tendency.

Booth spins towards her voice and his mouth falls open a little at what he sees. His wife is dressed in something not-de-similar from her Roxie outfit years earlier during their underground boxing case. The black dress is form fitting, accentuating her body in all the right places. It finishes just above the knee and yet her legs go on for days. He lavishes in her appearance, her perfectly curled hair, her beautifully applied make-up, her extremely sexy outfit, wondering how it is that, after all these years, she continues to affect him like she does. You think he'd get used to her beauty, but nope, she manages to blow him away every single time.

Brennan's cheeks pink under his intense gaze. She clears her throat, capturing her awed husband's attention. "What do you think?"

"You look…" His eyes scan her body once more and he shakes his head, disbelieving. "Incredible."

"Yeah?" she says quietly, a sweet smile inking it's way onto her face.

"Yeah," he confirms, stepping towards his Bones. With each step closer, he uses another adjective to describe her. "Amazing. Gorgeous. Perfect. Exquisite. _Beautiful_."

Brennan closes the distance between them and wraps her arms around his neck. As she leans in to kiss him, she pauses, inches away. She sniffs. "Are you wearing your new cologne?"

"Yeah. You did a good job this year, huh?"

"I really did," she boasts, seconds before he crashes his lips to hers, unable to resist any longer. Her hold on him tightens as she deepens the kiss, both of them forgetting that they're not actually alone. Booth's large hands caress the expanse of her back then gravitate northwards, tangling in her hair. Brennan moans softly, obviously enjoying herself and making Booth smile into the kiss. When they eventually separate, neither of them can take their eyes off each other, their gazes heated. Booth is seriously considering forgoing the dinner with their friends and dragging Brennan straight back to their bedroom when he hears a cough from behind them.

Glancing over his shoulder, he sees Aubrey staring at them, immensely uncomfortable. "Hi," he says, lifting his hand in an awkward wave.

"Hi?"

"You, um-." He points at his own mouth. "You have lipstick…"

"Oh, right," Booth chuckles as Brennan flushes with embarrassment.

Purposefully avoiding Aubrey's eyes, she collects a tissue from the kitchen, dampens it under the faucet and returns to Booth. She dabs at his swollen red lips until the make-up is gone and then throws the tissue into the trash. "All fixed."

"Great," Booth responds, his arm encircling Brennan's waist as he tugs her closer to his side. "Are you ready to go, Bones?"

"I believe so." Then, she shouts for Christine and Michael Vincent who have been playing with the toys in her bedroom all afternoon. The eight and nine year old come running into the living area moments later. "Daddy and I are going now, sweetheart," she informs Christine. "Come, give me a hug."

The not-so-little-anymore girl dives into her mother's arms. "Bye bye, mommy," she says as Brennan peppers kisses all over her face.

Next is Booth's turn. He groans as he lifts her high above his head, while Christine giggles happily. "I'm not going to be able to do this much longer, monkey. You're getting too big!"

"Or you're getting too old," she teases cheekily, laughing loudly as he drops her to the floor with a huff and crosses his muscular arms in front of his chest. "Love you really, dad," she amends, standing on her tippy toes and pouting.

"You better," comes his response, crouching down to her level so she can give him a kiss. He tells her he loves her and that he'll see her in the morning while Brennan says goodbye to their adorable toddler.

"Will you make pancakes?"

"Only if he's not hungover," Aubrey chimes in jokingly.

"What's hungover mean?" Christine and Michael Vincent ask almost simultaneously; Hank is too busy receiving kisses from his mommy to care.

"Nothing." Booth shoots the younger agent a sharp glare. A warning. Do _not_ teach them any inappropriate words. Especially not about him.

"Nothing at all," Aubrey reiterates, ignoring the children's inquisitive expressions before he reveals too much. "Uh, Booth? Won't your cab be here soon?"

Checking his watch, Booth sees Aubrey is right. He steals Hank from Brennan for a quick hug and some kisses, then lowers him to the floor where he stumbles back over to his Lego's, evidently more interested in building the highest tower he can (then happily knocking it over) than the fact his parents are leaving for the night. Booth tussles Michael's curly mop of hair that he's grown out so he can be just like his dad, much to Hodgins' total surprise (and joy) as Brennan grabs her clutch.

"Behave for Uncle Aubrey tonight," she warns the children, knowing how raucous they can be when they want to.

"We will," they reply immediately, although Booth detects a worrying mischievous glint in his daughter's eyes.

" _Christine?_ "

"I promise!" She says, doing nothing to assuage his concerns. Booth knows his daughter and he knows Aubrey is going to have an interesting night ahead of him. Feeling like he's leaving a lamb to the slaughter, he and Brennan head out of their house, his hand on the small of her back as they walk towards the waiting cab.

"They'll be all right, won't they?" Brennan questions nervously as he opens the door for her like the gentleman he is and helps her inside.

He hurries around to the other side of the vehicle, climbs in and shuts the door behind him. He gives the address of the restaurant date night will be held at this week and takes his wife's hand supportively. "I'm sure they'll be fine."

As the cab sets off, Booth glances back at their beautiful home, silently hoping that they don't return to it on fire.

* * *

"Looks all right," Booth comments as they walk hand-in-hand towards _Bouche Manger_ , the French restaurant Angela had chosen for their triple date night this evening.

"Apparently the food here is, and I quote, _to die for_. Although I don't really understand that idiom." Brennan crinkles her nose adorably and Booth has to strongly resist the urge to kiss her.

"Why not, Bones?"

"Why would you want to die for food? You'd never actually get to taste it. If it were so good, surely you'd want to eat it. It makes no sense."

Booth chuckles. "You know what, Bones? You've got a good point there. You're smart."

"Not smart. Brilliant," she corrects, smiling to herself.

"What brilliant thing have you done now, sweetie?" Angela asks as she, Hodgins, Cam and Arastoo approach the partners.

"Tearing apart popular idioms," Booth says, a hint of pride in his voice. "Shall we go in?"

Arastoo checks his watch. "We're a little early but we can just go to the bar, right? Get some drinks?"

"I'm not gonna say no to that," Angela laughs, opening the doors wide so Hodgins can wheel himself through, everybody else entering after him. Predictably, Booth, Angela and Brennan head straight to the bar to order their drinks, while the others sort out the reservation. Booth buys some Scotch for him and Hodgins, while Brennan and Angela take advantage of the cocktail specials on offer. Cam and Arastoo buy some non-alcoholic options when the other four are seated and already deep in conversation about Angela's latest photography exhibition that was, once again, an overwhelming success.

"This photography thing is really working out well for you, huh?" Cam says, sipping at her drink. "Selling out for the fourth show in a row – that's impressive."

"Right?" Hodgins grins widely. "I'm so proud of her."

Angela narrows her eyes at her husband. "Do _not_ say I told you so."

"To be fair, Ange, if it wasn't for Hodgins you would have never started displaying your work…"

The artist turns her glare to the FBI agent. "Don't you dare side with him, Seeley Joseph Booth. His ego gets _huge_ when he ends up being right."

"So you admit I'm right?" Hodgins exclaims, pumping his fist triumphantly and making Booth and Arastoo chuckle in a moment of male camaraderie. They quickly silence when their wives train their eyes on them.

"What I mean to say is… Angela is totally right. All the time. Never wrong," Arastoo stammers, grimacing when the three women begin to laugh.

"Such a suck up," Cam teases, shaking her head at her husband of two years.

"Hey! I thought you meant-."

"Don't bother, man." Hodgins claps him on the back. "You're not gonna win."

"Never," Angela backs him up smugly.

"If you're ready, your table is right this way," the waitress interrupts, leading the group of six to a circular candle-lit table in a private part of the restaurant, per Angela's request.

"Candles. Pretty romantic, huh, Bones?" Booth winks flirtatiously at his wife as they all sit down and accept the menus the waitress hands them.

"Yes, I believe so." The couple exchange loving smiles, both of them thinking about the rather _romantic_ bath they'd taken the night before with scented candles, bubble bath, the right music to get them in the mood… Brennan had found the evening extremely satisfying, to say the least.

"Hello! Earth to Brennan," Angela calls, waving the deep burgundy menu in front of her best friend's glazed over eyes. "Anybody there?"

Brennan jolts out of her daydream about her and Booth's most recent sexy times, her cheeks colouring as she catches everyone at the table staring at her with rapt attention.

"Oh, I know that look! She's thinking about what her and Booth did last night! Let me guess, did it have something to do with the tub?" Amusement glitters in Angela's dark brown eyes.

Booth and Brennan's silence speaks volumes.

"I _knew_ it! You love the tub!"

Hodgins laughs loudly at his wife's overjoyed exclamation. "Wow, you guys are not subtle _at all_ , are you?"

"Shut it, bug boy," Booth says sharply, pointing a finger at his curly haired friend. "Bones has told me _allll_ about the antics you and Angela get up to in your kitchen, so don't even start."

"Where do you two like to get it on then? Since we're sharing," Angela inquires lewdly, directing her question towards Cam and Arastoo.

"Not telling."

"The car."

" _Arastoo_!" Cam gasps, horrified. "That is _wildly_ inappropriate."

"No, it's not! Car sex is hot, don't worry 'bout it."

Cam buries her face in her hands at her _employee's_ words. She's their boss, for heaven's sake. Can't they maintain some semblance of professionalism for once?

"Are you and Angela already drunk, Hodgins?" Brennan questions, amused.

He shrugs. "Maybe. But, hey, you can't blame us. It's not often we get a crime-free _and_ child-free weekend where we can drink like college students again. We're sure as hell going to make the most of this rare opportunity."

Speaking of the children, Booth's mind begins to drift to what they're getting up to back at home as conversation fades away and they all peruse their menus.

* * *

"G'night, Unca Aubrey," Hank mumbles, already half asleep as he cocoons himself in his bedcovers like a burrito. Mmm. Speaking of, Aubrey does love a good burrito. One of them sounds _pretty_ good right now.

He switches off the light as he leaves Hank's room, returning to Michael and Christine in the living area, a swagger to his step. Kid went straight to sleep without the slightest hiccup. And Booth had warned him that it's difficult to get the three year old to bed right now without hours of tantrums and restless nights… Pfft. It had been a piece of cake. _I'm amazing with children_ , he thinks to himself, impressed with how little effort that took. _Now to relax_ _…_

"How 'bout we watch a Harry Potter movie, huh?" He claps his hands together, capturing the attention of the two kids. "Everybody loves Harry Potter."

They share an almost conspiratorial look then return their focus to their babysitter.

"OK," Christine says.

"Only if we can have snacks," Michael negotiates.

"Hey, I _love_ snacks!" Aubrey's about to excitedly fetch the huge food supply he'd brought with him when he pauses, remembering how health conscious Brennan can be. "Christine, will your mom be OK with you eating snacks?"

Christine shakes her head sadly, but brightens up seconds later. "We just won't tell her."

"Great idea!"

"No, no, not a great idea," Aubrey worries, knowing Brennan is an expert in martial arts. She could kill him without even trying. Plus, they work together. He doesn't want to lose the trusting relationship they've built up over the years. He swallows. "I'm not sure I feel comfortable lying to your mother."

"She'd never know!" Brennan's mini-me insists and, like her mother, she is extremely persuasive. She's also developed the sad eyes from both her parents and Aubrey _really_ can't say no to that look.

He lets out a deep sigh. "OK, fine. But you have to brush your teeth very well and promise not to make a mess. Got it?"

Both kids cheer.

Christine dashes off and retrieves two Klondike bars from their freezer. She hands one to her best friend and unwraps her own as Aubrey inserts the Goblet of Fire disc (apparently the Booth family's personal favourite) into the DVD player. Aubrey settles down next to them on the sofa as they munch away at the ice cream bar with the delicious outer layer of chocolate.

The movie begins and the three viewers are entranced by the opening sequence, so much so that Christine forgets about the frozen treat in her hand. Aubrey glances over to find all the ice cream and chocolate melting, creating a giant stain on Christine's clothing and, more worryingly, Booth and Brennan's beautiful cream-coloured couch.

Aubrey curses under his breath. Panicking, he grabs a cloth from the kitchen, searches under the sink for some stain remover and hurries back to the sofa. He then races back to Booth and Brennan's cabinets for two plastic kids' bowls, which should prevent them from making even more of a mess. He hands them their bowls and gets to work at removing the chocolaty mark before his partner and his partner's wife murder him like the vics they see every day. The film continues on behind him, much to Aubrey's dismay. He _loves_ the Twilight guy in this one!

The brown stain becomes lighter and lighter and, eventually, disappears. Thank _God_. He did _not_ fancy being one of those skeletons on Dr. Brennan's examination table just because her beautiful furniture was ruined on his watch. He sighs in relief – the problem resolved – and settles himself back down next to Christine and Michael, who have now finished eating their messy treats.

After watching the movie in silence for half an hour, his stomach starts to rumble and he decides to break into the snacks he'd packed with him. He picks out the large bag of sweet and salty popcorn, which he'd been uncertain about at first, but has now discovered is _revolutionary_ and tips the lot into the biggest bowl he can find for easy eating. He returns to his seat and tucks into the tasty snack he's so glad he had the forethought to buy.

However, to his absolute horror, the mini-Booth begins to pick at _his_ popcorn. He remembers how his mom used to tell him to share his things with the other kids when he was younger. Sharing toys is one thing, but sharing _food_? That's _abhorrent_. If Christine didn't look so cute in her Flyers tee, leggings and bunny slippers, he would have reprimanded her for taking his food without permission. He decides to let it go, but does shift the bowl farther and farther from where her thieving little fingers can reach. Satisfied, he concentrates on the scene unfolding, when he feels a finger tapping on his right shoulder. He glances questioningly down at Christine.

"Why weren't you invited to date night?"

"It's a date night for married people. I'm not married," he responds easily, thinking that will be the end of the conversation.

Oh no.

Of course not. Christine has clearly developed her mother's curiosity and her father's interrogation skills.

"Why not?"

"Why aren't I married?" He repeats.

Christine nods and Michael Vincent pauses the film, equally interested in Aubrey's response.

"Um. I dunno. I'm still young. It just hasn't happened yet." He lifts his shoulders in a casual shrug as if an eight and nine year old will understand that reasoning.

"Do you want to get married?" Michael.

"Maybe someday."

"My mommy didn't want to get married."

Aubrey's eyes widen. "She didn't?"

"Nope, not until she fell in love with my daddy," Christine says knowledgably.

" _My_ mom and dad got married in jail!" Michael exclaims.

"Really?" Aubrey's mouth drops open. He is learning _so_ _much_ new information about his co-workers this evening.

"Yeah, but they got out of jail."

"Thank goodness," Aubrey smiles, tickling the boy's armpits.

"Do you have a girlfriend?" Christine continues interrogating, despite her distracted audience tickling a rather squeamish Michael Vincent. "Uncle _Aubrey_." She prods at his arm impatiently until he replies to her.

"Yes, Christine, I do."

"What's her name?" Michael asks now the tickling has ceased, intrigued.

"You two are awfully nosy, you know that, right?" He chuckles. "My girlfriend's name is Jessica, if you must know. She works at the lab with your parents."

Christine mentally runs through everyone her mom works with at the Jeffersonian then she suddenly remembers. "The pretty red-headed one?"

"Yeah, her."

"She's pretty," Michael says.

"I know," Aubrey replies, a smile forming as he ruminates on just how pretty his girlfriend is. "I'm very lucky."

"Do you love her?" Christine.

"Yeah." His smile widens. "I do. I really love her."

"Are you going to marry her?" Michael.

He chokes on the popcorn he'd just put in his mouth, the nine year old's question totally throwing him. " _Sorry_?"

"I _said_ , are you going to marry her? Pretty Jess?"

"I-. Uh. I-," he splutters, not knowing what to say. The tips of his ears have turned bright red at the much more personal line of questioning this conversation has taken. He hasn't even talked to Jess about this stuff.

Christine decides to help him out. "When you love somebody, you marry them. Like my mommy and daddy. They really, really love each other, so they're husband and wife. Do you love pretty Jess like my daddy loves my mommy?"

Flustered, he says, "I don't know. Probably. I think so."

"Then you should marry her, silly," she tells him like it's the simplest thing in the world. "I'll help you pick one of those really pretty candy rings for you to buy her, OK?"

He has to fight the temptation to laugh at her adorably serious expression. "OK, Christine."

That settled, his thorough interrogation about his love life seemingly over, Michael resumes the film and they watch the action right from where they left off. Aubrey smiles softly to himself as Christine leans her head against his shoulder.

All in all, babysitting hasn't been _that_ bad so far. In fact, he's rather enjoying it.

* * *

Booth stretches his arm around the back of Brennan's chair as the waiters remove their now-empty plates.

"Those starters were delicious," Cam remarks, sincerely impressed.

"I have to agree. It's incredibly difficult to find a non-vegan restaurant that makes vegan food as good as the specialised establishments, but that was superb." Brennan grins at Angela. "Looks like you made a great choice."

"Thanks, sweetie. Uh, can we have some of your finest champagne and one glass of sparkling cider?" She asks one of the waiters before he can leave the table.

"Of course, Miss. One minute."

Arastoo's eyes widen because they agreed to split the check three ways and he certainly can't afford their finest champagne. And he can't even drink it! "I can't afford that," he worries aloud.

"It's fine," Brennan waves him off, "I just got a big advance on my next book. I'll pay for the champagne."

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah. We all have big news to share, right? That's the point of this meal, isn't it? How can we celebrate big news without champagne?"

"Bones is right."

"I'm always right," she agrees, making Booth chuckle. _God,_ he loves his wife.

Just then the waiter returns with the bottle of bubbly, five flutes and one glass of sparkling cider, which is placed in front of Arastoo. Once each diner has their own glass, he begins to pour the champagne into the flutes.

Cam is last and, exchanging a quick, nervous glance with her husband, she covers the rim with the palm of her hand. "None for me, thanks."

"Oh, come on, Cam! Have some bubbly – it's a treat!" Hodgins tries to convince her to no avail.

"Brennan's paying," Angela reminds her enticingly.

She shakes her head gently, happiness glittering in her eyes. "That's not the problem."

"Then what is?"

Cam and Arastoo share gleeful smiles this time, unable to hide their _mega_ huge announcement any longer. She nods at him, a silent "you can say it."

His entire face lights up with pure joy. "She can't drink because we're pregnant!"

"Oh my _God_!" Angela squeals, scraping back her chair so she can jump up and embrace Cam in a hug. "I'm so happy for you!"

"We all are," Booth adds, grinning at his long-time friend. "Congratulations!"

"Yeah, man. You're finally gonna be a dad!"

"I can't wait," Arastoo says adorably, making Angela melt.

"If you don't kiss him, Cam, I will."

Cam laughs delightedly as she presses a kiss to Arastoo's cheek. She would normally despise such a public display of affection in front of their co-workers and friends, but they didn't think this could happen for them – that they could get pregnant – and Arastoo is so _happy,_ she can't help herself.

"For the record, I totally knew," Brennan says proudly.

Booth rolls his eyes and turns towards his wife, his expression incredulous. "You did _not_ know."

"Yes, I did, Booth. She's been showing signs of early pregnancy for some time now – ptylism, broadening nostrils, sweating more than usual-."

"If you knew, why didn't you tell me, huh?"

"Is this going to turn into a fight?" Arastoo whispers to Cam, who dissolves into laughter.

Booth and Brennan face them, confused. They both say "what?" at the exact same moment.

"Nothing…" Cam has to quash her amused smile. They're always in sync. "So, what's your news?" She questions, hoping to distract them before they start full on bickering.

"Booth," Brennan begins, pride surging into her voice as she drops one hand to her husband's thigh, "has been promoted to Deputy Director of the FBI."

The table erupts with excited exclamations once again, attracting the attention of nearby diners.

Booth shushes his friends, his neck pinking. "Don't listen to Bones, it's not confirmed yet. I still have to go through the hearing with the congressional sub-committee first and after what happened last time…" He trails off, memories of a difficult period of his life overwhelming him.

"We cleared the shadow government, Booth. Durant is in prison. You're going to get this job, trust me." She squeezes his leg supportively.

His stare is fixed on his wife, even as their friends congratulate him noisily once again, he can't take his eyes off her. How has he got so lucky? She's proven time and time again how she has absolute faith in him and it blows him away every time that this perfect, beautiful, intelligent woman loves _him_.

"Does this mean you won't be working together anymore?" Hodgins asks, pulling him out of his deep reverie about his amazing wife.

Angela furrows her brow. "You couldn't even stop working together on your _honeymoon_ , for God's sake. Won't you hate that?"

"Yes, _but_ ," Brennan beams at Booth, "my husband deserves this job more than anybody and he really wants it. So I support him 100%."

"The pay's better, it's safer _and_ I get to spend more time with the kids. Plus, I'm not getting any younger, y'anno. I'm not gonna be able to do fieldwork for too much longer. Obviously I'll miss working with Bones, but we're married so we're always gonna be partners in that sense," Booth explains at their friends' surprised reactions. While, yes, in the past, he could have never given up fieldwork, his life has changed so much since then. He has the family he's always wanted and they mean everything to him. He's not going to risk losing them over some dumb job.

"Well, I think it's great. Congrats, Seeley."

"Thanks, Camille."

Next is Hodgins and Angela's turn to share their own exciting piece of news. Because Angela's photography has really taken off over the last few years, the demand for her to travel all over the world has increased, particularly to her favourite city…

" _You're moving to Paris_?" Brennan exclaims, shocked and a little hurt. The thought of living across the world from her best friend is heartbreaking.

"We're just buying an apartment over there, we're keeping our house here in DC," the artist says, clasping Brennan's free hand. "There's so many amazing opportunities for me over there and you know it's always been my dream to live in Paris. But I could never leave you full time, sweetie."

"Good, because I don't ever want you to leave." Brennan lets go of Booth and wraps her arms around her best friend, holding her close.

Angela smiles softly into Brennan's shoulder and then pulls apart. "Hey, you can still come and visit when we are staying in _Paris_ ," she says in an exaggerated French accent. "It'd be a pretty romantic trip for you and Studly," she whispers, winking at Booth.

"That sounds wonderful, Angela," Brennan agrees. "And I'd get to visit the Catacombs – I've always wanted to go there but have never found the time."

Booth narrows his eyes at her. "Just can't stop thinking about bones, can you?"

"I'm afraid not. But you knew what you signed up for when you married me," she teases, her eyes glinting in delight.

"I know, Bones, and it was the best decision I ever made." He gazes at Brennan intensely for several moments, forgetting everybody around them. The corners of his lips lift in a smile as he raises his flute of champagne, the rest of the group following suit. "To growing families, new jobs and apartments in Paris," he toasts appreciatively.

They all clink their glasses, every one of them wearing perfectly content smiles.

Life is pretty great right now, Booth thinks as he sips at his champagne, wondering how he could possibly get any happier than he is right at this moment.

* * *

"What do you mean Hogwarts isn't real?" Aubrey cries, offended.

"It's a fictional school that only exists in J.K. Rowling's fantasy world. Wizards obviously aren't real so I don't know why you'd believe in the school they supposedly attend."

The FBI agent's mouth falls open. He can't believe he's having his favourite movie franchise ruined like this. And by a nine year old of all people. " _Wizards aren't real_?"

Michael rolls his eyes as if to say "I can't believe I actually have to deal with this right now."

"Of course not, Uncle Aubrey! Anthropologically speaking, witches and wizards are purely metaphors for abstract ideologies such a social predation," Christine explains adamantly.

Aubrey raises his eyebrows in surprise. "Did you swallow a dictionary or something?"

"No, my mommy just says I'm very smart."

"And I guess it was your mommy that taught you all about the anthropological meaning behind witchcraft?" His lips twitch with amusement.

"She talks about it every time we watch Harry Potter. It makes daddy mad."

"I bet it does," Aubrey titters, contemplating what everyday life must be like in the Booth household. With the amount of bickering they do at work with their professional restraint, he imagines debates at home must get pretty heated. He wishes he could be a fly on the wall for some of those bickering sessions; the couple's somewhat unique dynamic never fails to entertain him. He pauses, thinking he can hear cries emanating from Hank's room. He's about to get up and investigate when, sure enough, a sobbing Hank Booth comes speeding into the living room moments later.

"What's wrong, buddy?" He asks as the little boy crawls into his lap and snuggles into his chest.

"Miss my mommy," he mumbles, his thumb in his mouth. "Where's mommy?"

"She's gone out with our daddy, remember, Hank?"

He shakes his head vehemently. "I want mommy."

"She's not here," Aubrey repeats Christine's words as the even more mini mini-Booth begins to quiver as tears wrack through his body. Aubrey draws circles on the little boy's back, hoping he finds that soothing.

He clearly doesn't because, if anything, his cries get stronger.

Christine prises him from Aubrey's arms and hugs her baby brother tightly. "It's OK, Hank. I'm here," she says, rocking him gently and pressing feather-light kisses to the top of his head.

"Want mommy," he wails, ignoring his big sister's attempts to calm him down.

"I'm better than mommy though, right?"

"No!" Tears continue to stream down his cheeks as a distressed little Hank won't accept any other substitute for Brennan.

Christine glances helplessly at Aubrey. "I don't know what to do."

The last thing Aubrey wants to do is call Brennan and interrupt their date night. It's not often that she and Booth get a night completely free of responsibilities and they've both been incredibly stressed at work lately so he knows they need the break to enjoy themselves. Wracking his brain for any possible solution, he comes up blank and turns to the genius children beside him for any ideas.

"Dr. B is really famous, right?" Michael starts, his expression lit with joy about his amazing plan.

Aubrey nods, unsure of where this is leading.

"There's loads of videos of famous people online so there's gotta be some of Dr. B, haven't there? I know it's not the real thing but maybe just seeing her and hearing her voice will help him relax," he suggests, surprising Aubrey with how smart that is (and annoying him that he couldn't come up with that idea himself.)

Christine agrees and pulls out their family tablet. She clicks on the YouTube app and types "Temperance Brennan" into the search bar. It takes a second or two to load, but then a long list of videos appear. They mostly consist of various anthropology lectures she's done over the years, scattered with a few interviews about her books. Aubrey's about to tell Christine to select one of her TV interviews which would be boring for Hank, but it's better than nothing, when he spots an extremely interesting thumbnail at the bottom of the screen.

It's Brennan – obviously – but unlike anything Aubrey has seen her in before. She looks younger with her hair pulled up in two high pigtails and bangs. Her costume is what surprises him the most though. She's wearing a black and white skeleton suit with a large red tutu over the top and big white Mickey Mouse-like gloves on her hands. She looks almost… whimsical. The video is titled " _Bunsen Jude the Science Dude_."

"Oh, I _have_ to watch this," Aubrey murmurs to himself and leans over Christine to click on the video.

It opens on what looks like the platform in the Medico-Legal lab, only it has been re-decorated to be appropriate for a kids show. There's a flashing yellow sign that reads "The Lab" and beneath it, the colourful logo of " _Bunsen Jude the Science Dude"._ The music begins and an enthusiastic African American man dressed in a white lab coat runs onto the "stage"; Aubrey guesses he's the so-called Bunsen Jude.

" _What is the code of the scientist?_ " He begins to excited cheers from the children in the audience.

Hank has stopped crying in his sister's arms, intrigued. Christine and Michael also watch silently, equally fascinated by this show and what on Earth Brennan is doing on it.

" _Observe! Analyse! Deduce!_ "

" _Kids, I want you to meet a very special friend. In fact, this is her lab. Isn't it_ _ **amazing**_?"

" _It's amazing!_ " The kids chorus and Aubrey's pupils widen. These kids are _not_ normal.

" _She's a forensic anthropologist and what she does is_ _ **amazing!**_ _She looks at old bones; she figures out how people lived, what they were like, even how they died. She's_ _ **amazing**_ _! Like magic."_

"She is, isn't she, Hank?" Christine says, bouncing her brother on her knee. He doesn't respond; too busy eagerly anticipating the moment his mom will appear on the video.

" _But it's not magic, it's-._ "

" ** _Science!_** " Everybody shouts together and even Michael joins in. When Aubrey glances at him, puzzled, he blushes and turns away.

" _Her name is Dr. Temperance Brennan, but she's better known as the bone lady!_ " Jude announces, clapping as the music and applause starts up again and Brennan – sorry, _the bone lady_ – comes dancing out from backstage, waving her hands around.

Little Hank's eyes light up as he points at the screen excitedly. "Mommy!"

"Yeah, that's right, Hank. That's mommy!" Christine kisses his chubby cheeks as they lift to form a wide, toothy grin.

On screen, Brennan does a few bows and Aubrey can't physically believe what's he's watching. Who convinced the usually serious scientist to do _this_? He stores this little treasure in his mind to ask Booth about in the office on Monday. Aubrey continues to watch avidly.

" _Dr. Brennan, would you like to lead us in our scientist's oath?_ "

" _I most certainly would, Science Dude!"_ Onscreen Brennan says and Christine claps delightedly.

Aubrey grins at the cuteness of the scene before him as Brennan begins her oath.

" _We see big stars, tiny atoms, too, because that is what scientists do! We get the facts and say what's true, because that is what scientists do! We use our minds, embrace what's new, because that is what scientists do!_ "

Aubrey has to stifle laughter at the actions both she and Science Dude do as they recite the scientist's oath with the children. He is _so_ going to get her back for making fun of his dance moves during his show choir competition video a few years ago. He's already silently plotting ways he can bring this oath up when they're out in the field, a smirk on his face as the video comes to a close.

" _Thank you, Dr. Brennan."_

" _No, thank_ _ **you**_ _,"_ onscreen Brennan insists, a smile on her face.

The audience cheers loudly as she shakes Science Dude's hand and does an awkward curtsey/bow thing. The video ends with her putting up one gloved thumb as she smiles tenderly at somebody in the audience. Aubrey presumes Booth must have been there because he recognises that smile as the one she reserves just for her husband.

"Again! Again! Again!" Hank demands as Christine clicks replay and Brennan's children delight in watching their mother perform, Hank's tears long forgotten.

After re-watching the clip five times, Aubrey is able to commit the oath to memory, but Hank's mood has not improved any further. In fact, it's making him _more_ upset that he can see Brennan and talk to her, but she's not talking back. Big, fat tears begin to roll down his face and all three of them are at a loss of what to do; not even the video comforts him anymore.

Resigned, Aubrey decides he's going to have to call Brennan and disrupt date night. She's the only person that's going to be able to soothe him so he can actually get some sleep tonight. Aubrey pulls out his cell and dials Brennan's number, his lips pinching as he remembers the countless ways Booth had threatened him with bodily harm if he were to ruin their one evening of freedom.

" _Hello_?" Brennan's anxious voice comes through the speaker after several rings. She's already on alert that something is wrong with her kids and he inwardly marvels at her maternal instinct. " _Aubrey, is everything OK_?"

He can hear the muffled voices of his friends on the end of the line, wondering what the call is about. He puts them out of their misery. "I'm really sorry to disturb you, Dr. B, but Hank's woken up crying and we've tried everything, but he just wants you. Could you talk to him?"

" _Yes, of course, Aubrey. Let me just step outside where it's quieter_." He listens as she briefly explains the situation to the rest of the group, scrapes back her chair and exits the restaurant, her heels clicking loudly against the floor. Silence. " _OK, Aubrey. Put him on speaker phone_."

Aubrey does as she says. He wouldn't want to disobey Temperance Brennan on a good day, let alone when she's in full on overprotective mama bear mode. He nudges Hank to speak first.

"Mommy?"

" _Hi, Hank. Are you all right, honey_?"

"I miss you and daddy," he says tearfully, his lower lip jutting out in a sad pout.

" _We miss you, too, buddy. But we'll be home soon_ ," comes Booth's voice.

Hank's tiny head swivels to the front door, expecting his parents to come on walking through. "Now?"

" _No, not right now, sweetheart. I tell you what, if you go to sleep like a good boy for Uncle Aubrey, it'll be the morning before you know it then we'll give you and Christine a million kisses, OK?"_ Brennan.

"Two million trillion?" Hank barters, causing Christine to giggle uncontrollably.

" _Deal_ ," Booth agrees. " _Will you go to bed now, buddy?_ "

"Yes, daddy. Love you."

" _We love you more, baby,"_ Brennan calls down the line before Christine lowers Hank to the floor and the toddler traipses back to bed, all his crying clearly having worn him out.

"Thanks for that. I didn't want to disturb you, but he just wouldn't settle."

" _Don't worry about it, Aubrey. It's part and parcel of being a parent_." Brennan. " _How's my beautiful little Christine? And Michael Vincent_?"

"They're doing great," Aubrey assures her. "Now get back to your date. I'll see you in a few hours."

And, with that, he cuts off the call. He leans back into the pillows, thinking he'll finally have some peace and quiet so he can relax after a particularly gruelling mob case he's been working this week. However, of course, Christine has other plans.

"Uncle Aubrey, come play _Ready! Set! Fun!_ with us!"

He groans, sliding to the floor where the eight year old is setting up what is, according to Booth, her most favourite board game in the world, which she takes _very_ seriously.

Perhaps he overestimated how easy this babysitting thing would be. The night's not even over yet and he already needs to sleep for, like, forty years. Minimum.

* * *

"I hope that worked," Brennan says, worrying her lower lip. Booth can see the guilty expression appearing on her face over the fact they're not with their son when he's feeling so distressed and Booth determines to distract her from panicking about Hank so she can actually enjoy the rest of her evening.

"It will. Our little big man will be just fine, Bones. Come on, let's get back to the table before they think we've dined and dashed." A hand on the small of her back, they slowly walk to where their friends are sitting.

"Do you remember that time we actually dined and dashed?" Her voice is in a quiet whisper, but her eyes light up excitedly.

"Oh, yeah. That was fun." He doesn't say anything about the money he left on the counter, doesn't want to ruin the memory for her; he just loves the fact that she's finally embracing the child inside of her. She certainly deserves it, after everything she's been through.

"Everything OK?" Hodgins asks when they reach the table, noticing the remaining tinge of concern remaining on Brennan's face.

"Absolutely," Booth responds as he pulls out his wife's chair for her then sits back down in his own. "Hank just woke up and they needed us to calm him down. You've got all this to come," he says, tossing a playful grin in Cam and Arastoo's direction.

"Oh, yeah. Parenting is great until they wake you up every ten minutes in the middle of the night."

"It's not _actually_ that bad, is it?"

"Nah, it's more like every five minutes," Hodgins teases.

"It's worse when there's two of them," Brennan laments. "They wake each other up."

Arastoo's eyes widen, panic-stricken, causing their friends to laugh at his expense.

"You guys aren't being too encouraging right now."

"The sleepless nights are exhausting but, honestly, having kids is the best thing you'll ever do. You'll love it," Booth promises, reassuring the terrified parents-to-be.

"Plus, it gives you an excuse to play with all their cool toys and pretend you're doing it for them."

"Oh, don't even get me started on that," Angela complains, narrowing her eyes at Hodgins. "Our living room is permanently messy because there are toy cars and video games scattered all over the place. Whenever I ask Michael who did it, he always says you, _Hodgie._ "

"He said he'd keep that between us!"

Their friends all chuckle as Hodgins threatens to ground his son for throwing him to the wolves (AKA his beautiful loving wife) like that.

" _Ground him_? But Michael Vincent's an angel!" Arastoo.

"That's what he wants you to think."

"Yes, Michael and Christine can be a real nightmare when they're together. I don't even want to think about what they're doing to my house right now." Brennan shudders.

"Last time Aubrey babysat, Christine knocked Bones' African fertility statue on the floor and it broke," Booth sniggers, his hand resting on his wife's shoulder. "Not that we've ever needed it, of course."

Brennan jabs her elbow into his chest, her cheeks flushing pink with embarrassment.

"Yeah, you're definitely not going back home to it in one piece," Cam says, laughing softly.

"We'll just have to run away to some tropical climate together, huh, Bones? Leave them to it." He waggles his eyebrows suggestively at her.

She simply rolls her eyes at his goofiness. "We'd miss Christine and Hank too much."

"Eh. I suppose we would. Thanks for ruining my beach house fantasy there, Bones."

"It's OK. You still love me." Delight dances in her eyes as she teases him light-heartedly.

"I really do," he growls in her ear, making her giggle. Booth pulls her chair nearer to his so that their bodies touch, so completely in love with his wife that he misses the knowing smirks from their friends and co-workers around the table.

Minutes later, one of the waiters from earlier returns to their table, asking if they'd like to order desserts.

"PIE!" Booth exclaims immediately, a proud smile on his face when everybody in their vicinity looks over and stares at him disdainfully.

Whatever.

He just really likes pie.

* * *

"He's sleeping like a log," Aubrey tells Michael and Christine upon returning to the living room after checking on Hank.

"Logs can't sleep," the latter says, her little nose crinkling in confusion.

"It's an expression."

"It's a stupid expression. Surely saying he's sleeping like a bear or a bat or a common poorwill would make more sense." Michael.

"What's a common poorwill?" Aubrey questions, scratching his jaw.

"A type of bird that hibernates when temperatures are too extreme or if they don't have much food. Did you know, it's the only bird species that goes into true hibernation?"

"No, I didn't." Hanging out with these two makes Aubrey feel like he's back at school again. "Anyhoops, it's getting late and you should go to bed before Booth and Brennan come home and you get me into trouble; it's already an hour and a half later than your bed time."

Reluctantly the tiny geniuses agree and disappear off to change into their pyjamas. Aubrey collapses onto the now-vacated sofa, completely spent. _How on Earth do those two have so much energy and ridiculous amounts of knowledge_? He wonders. When he was their age, all he cared about were comics and video games and pizza. Although to be fair, his priorities haven't really changed that much since then.

He's contemplating what pizza toppings to order when he gets home as Christine comes bounding back into the room, now dressed in her super cute footy pyjamas.

"Will you read us a story and come tuck us in, Uncle Aubrey?" She asks shyly. "I can't sleep until my mom or dad read me one of my books."

"OK, sure," he says evenly. That sounds reasonable enough. He stands up and follows her through the house and into her bedroom. She hops into her bed and passes Aubrey the book she wants him to read. Michael is lying in his khaki green sleeping bag beside Christine's bed. They both watch intently as Aubrey opens the front cover of Horton.

"Make sure to do the voices," Michael reminds him.

"My daddy _always_ does the funny voices."

So that's what Aubrey does. (Although, apparently, not to Booth's high standard.)

He closes the book once he reaches the end and looks over, realising both children are drifting off to sleep.

He climbs off the bed, gently pulls the covers over the mini-Booth, careful not to wake her, and tiptoes out of her bedroom, sighing in relief. All three children are asleep at last. The house is quiet and peaceful, finally allowing him to relax.

Once in the living room, he crashes onto the couch and switches the TV on at a low volume, so as not to disturb the kids. He sees that one of his all time favourite movies To Catch A Thief is playing and settles in to watch one of the classics.

However, the children he's babysitting evidently have other plans for him.

Feeling two pairs of eyes on him, he surveys the area, inwardly cussing when he sees Christine and Michael stood near the kitchen island, eager expressions on their faces.

"What do you want now, guys? You're _supposed_ to be sleeping."

As the oldest, Michael takes the lead role. "We want to make cookies."

"Chocolate chip cookies," Christine inserts in the hopes of boosting their chances.

"At this time of night?" Aubrey arches an eyebrow sceptically.

"Yes! Mommy bought the ingredients especially but I forgot. She'll be mad if we don't use them."

"I'm sure she won't be that mad. You can always bake tom-."

"But then you won't be able to eat them! You love chocolate chip cookies, don't you, Uncle Aubrey?" Michael asks, even pulling out the puppy dog eyes.

 _I really do love chocolate chip cookies_ _…_ _especially when they're fresh from the oven_ _…_ Aubrey practically salivates at the thought. Damn his inability to say no to delicious freshly baked goods. "OK, fine. We'll make cookies."

"Yay!" Christine yells, darting forward to hug him. Aubrey is a little taken aback at first, but does hug back, tousling her brown hair for good measure. He has to admit that he's become very fond of Booth and Brennan's daughter and it means a lot to him that she likes him back, even if it is just because he's letting her bake cookies at ten o'clock at night.

Christine lets go and dashes off to fetch some aprons, while Aubrey finds the ingredients from the kitchen cabinets and lays them out on the side. Christine returns and he helps both children tie the knot at the back of their aprons then insists they wash their hands. They do so and then they're all ready to begin baking.

Aubrey gets up a recipe on his phone and reads out the measurements while Christine and Michael take it in turns to weigh out the flour, sugar, butter and chocolate chips. Aubrey tries to ignore the huge amount already spilt on the countertop as they toss the ingredients into the large mixing bowl, but he almost has a heart attack when Christine attempts to crack an egg ( _attempts_ being the key word here) on the rim of the bowl and misses _entirely_ , the egg yolk and whites dripping to the floor in a gloopy puddle.

"Oops?" Christine says before grabbing another.

Aubrey can't stop her fast enough, but luckily the bowl captures _most_ of the contents of the egg this time around.

Michael begins to stir the mixture together, large clouds of flour puffing up and falling, adding to the already pretty significant mess they've made in his partner's kitchen.

Once they've each had a turn destroying the kitchen ( _sorry_ , mixing the cookie dough), they each grab huge amounts of dough, ball it up between their palms then flatten it out and lay it on the already greased oven tray. They repeat this method until two trays are filled with giant misshapen chocolate chip cookies. Aubrey pops them in the oven, sets the timer then sits on one of the barstools in the kitchen next to Michael Vincent. He's too shattered to even attempt cleaning up yet and decides to do it when the alarm tells him the cookies are ready to eat.

* * *

"This pie is incredible," Booth says, practically moaning as he stuffs another forkful of the delicious apple pie into his mouth.

"Yeah, are you gonna let Dr. Brennan eat any of it?" Arastoo jokes. "You're supposed to be sharing."

"I can't help myself. It's just too freaking good." Even so, he slides the plate slightly in his wife's direction and she takes a tiny bite of Booth's most favourite type of food.

"I have to digress," she mumbles, the pie in her mouth, "that this is probably the best I've ever had."

"We're gonna have to come here more often, Bones. The Diner's got nothin' on this."

Angela rolls her eyes, popping a spoonful of Crème Brulée into her mouth. "I can't believe you've come to a French restaurant and you're eating pie of all things."

"Hey!" He cries, affronted. "If pie is on the menu, I gots to have my pie!"

"We know. You only talk about it twenty-four seven."

He narrows his eyes at Brennan. "If that's the case, then no more for you." He slides the plate away.

"No, Booth! I was only joking!"

"Mmm. Sure." He reluctantly lets her have another few bites of the pie, but only because she's cute.

They spend the rest of the evening laughing and telling each other jokes, the pleasant buzz of alcohol combined with the smooth tones of the jazz band playing making everything more enjoyable. Eventually they decide it's getting late – they're not twenty anymore, they're getting tired – and Booth and Brennan think they should probably relieve Aubrey of his babysitting duties. They each pay their part of the check (with Brennan taking responsibility for the expensive champagne, as she'd promised) and head outside. Booth removes his jacket and drapes it over Brennan's shoulders in a very gentlemanly action when the chill of the late hour hits them, earning him an appreciative kiss from his wife.

"We've had a great evening," Cam says, thanking the others for inviting them along. "See you at work on Monday." She waves goodbye as she and Arastoo climb into the cab he'd just called over.

"We'll be round for lunch tomorrow to pick Michael up," Hodgins says and thanks Booth and Brennan once again for letting their son stay over.

Booth simply shrugs it off. "You help us out with the kids all the time, so it's the least we could do."

Hodgins smiles gratefully at him then sticks his hand out as he sees a taxi approaching them. The vehicle slows down and stops. The driver gets out and lowers the ramp so Hodgins can wheel himself in easily, while Angela and Brennan - both very drunk – are hugging each other tightly on the sidewalk. Booth watches on, amused, as they kiss each other on the cheeks then accidentally catch each other's lips. They erupt in a fit of tipsy giggles and Booth has to step in, the cab driver becoming impatient with the waiting around.

"That wasn't too shabby, Brennan," Angela shouts drunkenly as Booth pries her away from his wife and leads her to the waiting taxi. "You'd better watch out, Boothy, you might have some competition."

"Allll right," he intones, shaking his head as he slams the door shut and holds up one hand in a wave goodbye as their friends are driven away. Said hand reaches out to steady Brennan as she stumbles towards him. "Had a good night, Bones?" He asks laughingly as he attracts a taxi of their own.

"Amazing night," she murmurs, leaning her forehead against his as they wait for the cab to pull up. "Love you, Booth."

"Love you too, Bones," he responds, dipping his head for a chaste kiss before they climb into the taxi. He gives the driver their home address, his pupils widening as Brennan begins to press hot kisses along his strong jawline. Her kisses move down his neck, her nimble hands reaching out to undo his shirt buttons. His mouth drops open. " _Bones_. What're you doing?" He hisses.

"Undressing you, obviously," she says, a pleased smirk on her face.

"Not yet you're not." He re-buttons the top half of his shirt, the tips of his ears reddening as he catches the knowing smile the driver shoots him through the rear-view mirror.

"But Booooth," she whines, pressing her body up against his. "You look so sexy right now and I want to-."

"No, Bones," he whispers, fighting every urge within him to just go along with her actions. "Just wait a bit longer until we're in our bedroom, OK?"

"OK." Booth laughs loudly as she sullenly folds her arms across her breasts, looking like a petulant child.

He somehow manages to resist her advances for the rest of the journey home. Once the taxi pulls to a stop, Booth hands over the appropriate bills and the driver winks lewdly at him. "Enjoy the rest of your evening, sir."

The FBI agent just shakes his head (silently thinking "I damn well will, thank you very much") and gets out, hurrying round to assist Brennan out of her side. He shuts the door behind her and snakes his arm around her waist as he carefully leads her down the long driveway to their house, trying to make sure that she doesn't fall over and hurt herself in the heels she's extremely unstable on.

They reach their front door and he stops abruptly. "Remember, Bones, the kids are asleep, so we've gotta be quiet, mm'k?"

She presses her finger to her lips and makes an exaggerated "shhh" sound.

Satisfied that she understands she needs to be silent (drunk Brennan has a tendency to knock over a lot of things, making as much noise as she possibly can), he unlocks the door and follows his wife inside. The smell that hits him as he crosses the threshold is overpowering; he can almost taste the smoke.

"Is something _burning_?" He asks aloud.

It's then that his kitchen comes into his line of sight and he swears his heart rate soars into the stratosphere.

He's never seen his kitchen so… so… _disastrous_. It looks like a war zone. Baking tools strewn everywhere, flour sugar and egg spilt all over the place, creating not only a sticky mess, but a pungent eggy odour that makes him feel more than a little sick. The oven door has been thrown open with a tray of black, smoking rocks resting precariously on the edge of the tray that sits half-in and half-out of the oven, like someone had tried to pull it out, but gave up mid-way through. Amidst all the chaos, Christine, Michael and Aubrey sit on the bar stools, each of them fast asleep, their heads lying on the countertop. They may as well have been dead to the world.

Booth sighs as he gently lifts Christine into his arms - still wearing her dirty apron over her pyjamas - to take her to bed. He should have known leaving four kids alone for the evening would lead to his house being destroyed.

 **Leave a review if you liked this, or if you didn't. I'd really appreciate your feedback either way. Thanks for reading! :)**


	2. Weekend Away Part 1

**Thank you SO much for the response to the first chapter – that was so unexpected and made me really, really happy! As I said, it was originally intended to be a stand-alone kind of thing but since so many people requested a sequel, I've decided the story will now be five chapters long.**

 **C1 – Date night, C2 – Weekend Away Part 1, C3 – Weekend Away Part 2, C4 Cam and Arastoo's first night away from the baby and C5 a slightly more angsty chapter that I want to surprise you with.**

 **This is the Part 1 of Weekend Away. Enjoy :)**

"How great was that hockey game last night, Bones?" Booth grins as they walk side by side into his new, much larger office. He moves to sit behind his desk that's stacked with case files he needs to sign off on and Brennan sits on the armchair opposite him. "Looks like you're not a jinx anymore."

She huffs at his choice of words, making him chuckle. According to Brennan, she was never a jinx because they simply don't exist. However, it can't have been a coincidence that his favourite sports team kept losing every single time she watched a game with him. "Yes, the Philadelphia Whosits do seem to be playing better lately, although their improved performance has nothing to do with _me_ , Booth. It's more likely due to improved strategy, better players, better training techniques…"

He narrows his eyes at her. "I know you do that on purpose."

"Do what on purpose?" She questions, confused.

"' _Philadelphia Whosits_?' You pretend to know nothing about the Flyers to rile me up, don't you, you little devil?"

"Is it working?" She asks coyly, her eyes twinkling.

He saunters towards her with a smirk on his face, however, before he can kiss his wife, her cell rings, disrupting the moment. He groans, frustrated, as she accepts the call. He returns to his seat and begins to shuffle through the documents.

She murmurs a quick apology, before speaking into the phone. "Hello?"

" _Hi there. Is this Dr. Brennan?"_

"It is. Can I ask who's calling?"

" _Dr. Erin Sanders from McGill University. I just wanted to remind you about the lecture you promised to give my anthropology students on Monday afternoon and also to confirm we've arranged the accommodation you requested for you and your husband's stay. You'll be pleased to know that we secured the booking at the Ritz-Carlton. It's a truly stunning hotel and just a ten minute walk from our facility_."

"Oh, OK. Thank you very much. I'll see you Monday." She hangs up the phone, cursing aloud.

Booth glances up from the pile of paperwork, surprised. "What was that about?"

"Remember how I agreed to lecture at McGill and we'd planned to make a weekend of it?"

His eyes widen, catching her drift. "That's this weekend?"

"Yes. And we have no childcare," she replies, worrying her lower lip.

" _Shit_. I completely forgot!"

"So did I. What are we going to do?"

"Is anybody else available?" He wonders out loud. "I know it's last minute but-."

She shakes her head, her eyes just as wide. "Max is staying with Russ and the girls, your mom is on that cruise of the Caribbean with Reggie, Angela and Hodgins are in Paris and Cam's nine months pregnant and on bed rest. We can hardly ask her and Arastoo to take care of two young kids for three days."

Booth curses again, racking his brain for solutions as Aubrey enters his office, one hand resting casually in his pocket. "Everything OK?" He asks, noticing the matching concerned expressions on the married couple's faces.

"Bones has this lecture thing she needs to do in Montreal and we've booked a _ridiculously_ expensive hotel for the weekend but with the new job and everything else that's been going on, we totally forgot."

"We don't have childcare and nobody's available," Brennan elaborates, Booth never actually explaining _why_ they are so panicked.

"I'm available," he volunteers easily, beaming at the parents. "Problem solved. Now there's this case-."

"No, no, no, no, problem _not_ solved." Booth and Brennan share equally horrified looks, remembering the aftermath of the last time he had babysat their kids. Christine and Michael – the little monsters – had persuaded him to engage in a late night baking session. Not only were their chocolate chip cookies burnt to a crisp and completely inedible, but they'd left flour, sugar, butter, eggs and chocolate chips all over their counters, their floor and somehow, there was a little bit on the ceiling. The three of them had fallen asleep at the breakfast bar surrounded by the pigsty state they'd left the kitchen in, leaving _Booth_ to be the one to tidy it up, instead of having sex with his wife like he really wanted to. "No offence, Aubrey, but the last time… it took us hours and hours and hours to clean up the mess you made in our kitchen. Let alone the toys that were _everywhere_. The place was a disaster."

"And that was only for one night. We'd be leaving the kids with you all weekend," Brennan adds, dreading the prospect of what would happen to her house if they left Aubrey in charge for that long.

"Yeah, but there would be one less kid."

Booth nods – that's a fair point. Without Michael there, there wouldn't be anyone around to encourage Christine. It's common knowledge that when the eight and nine year olds are around each other, trouble is never far behind. There would be significantly less chaos with one of the Troublesome Two missing. He glances over at his wife in order to garner her opinion and finds her eyes shooting daggers at him for even considering Aubrey's suggestion.

She says – her tone firm, leaving no room for negotiation – that Aubrey will _not_ be babysitting Hank and Christine. "I don't particularly want to leave them anyway, so we will not be needing your help."

"No, no, no, Dr. B. You should go," the FBI agent insists, promising that there will not be a repeat of the last time he'd looked after the children. His face then brightens up, like a light bulb has lit up in his brain. "Hey, I've got an idea. Maybe Hank and Christine could stay at my place so if anything _does_ get destroyed – which it won't –" he assures them quickly, "it'll be my belongings, not yours."

Booth and Brennan turn to each other, mulling it over for a couple of minutes. He _is_ the only person available to take care of the kids and Christine and Hank _adore_ him. Plus, if they'd be staying at his apartment rather than their home, it eliminates most of the concerns they have about him babysitting.

"Are you sure you'd be able to cope with two kids for an entire weekend, Aubrey? It's not easy-."

He waves Brennan off, declaring that everything will be absolutely fine and that the parents have nothing to worry about. He's an _amazing_ babysitter.

"OK, fine, let's do that," Booth eventually agrees after a great deal of consideration and silent chatter between the husband and wife using only their eyes and minute changes in facial expressions. "As long as you understand how big of a responsibility it is to look after them for an extended period of time and how much of a leap of faith we're taking to trust our kids with you."

"I won't let you down, I promise."

* * *

Since their flight is early Saturday morning, they decided it would be more convenient to drop the kids off on Friday night, meaning they will be in Aubrey's care until Monday night, which is longer than they'd originally anticipated, but the FBI agent says that if he can deal with murderers everyday then two small kids shouldn't be a problem.

("How hard can it be?" were his exact words and Booth sincerely hopes he doesn't live to regret them. He knows how… _excitable_ … his daughter can get, especially if she's had too much sugar, which he knows – in Aubrey's apartment – will be abundant in supply.)

Well, they _will_ be dropping them off tonight if they ever get the kids' things packed, which, right now, is proving to be a much more difficult task than previously expected.

Booth is trying to pack Hank's bag with important things: clothes, shampoo, toothbrush, toothpaste etc. but his youngest son clearly has other ideas. For every item that goes in the bag, Hank removes it and replaces it with a toy car, a toy train, or a handful of Lego pieces. At first, Booth found it quite amusing, but now it's been half an hour and they still have got no further. He knows they need to leave soon and if his son doesn't help him pack, then Bones is going to be mad at _him_ when in reality it's _Hank's_ fault.

"Come on, buddy, you need clothes," he says, urging the three year old to stop with his mischief.

"But daddy, I want toys!"

"You can still have toys, but you don't wanna walk around naked, do you?" He punctuates his sentence with a tickle to little Hank's tummy, chuckling softly as his son giggles and squirms.

"Stop! Daddy, stop!" He squeals, causing Brennan to come rushing in, her mini-me right behind her, wondering what on Earth is going on. When she sees the clothes and toiletries strewn over the floor rather than in the bag, she almost has a heart attack.

" _Booth!_ We need to leave! This isn't the time for playing games." She shakes her head disapprovingly and Christine copies the action, adding a stern hand on her hip for good measure.

He purses his lips to keep from laughing and rats his son out with zero qualms. "He just wants toys, Bones. It's not my fault!"

"You're supposed to be the adult, Booth," she scolds.

"Yeah, _Booth_ ," Christine says in a similar tone and he really can't restrain his laughter any longer. He tugs her by the hand so she lands clumsily into his lap. He wraps his arms protectively around her and peppers kisses all over.

"That's _dad_ to you, monkey."

"Whatever," she responds dismissively, already sounding like the teenager he's dreading she'll become. _Why can't his kids just stay little forever?_

As he and Christine sit on the floor, Brennan sets to work packing for Hank and instantaneously discovers her husband was right. She peeks over her shoulder, sees his smug smile looking directly at her and glares. "Do not say ' _I told you so_.'"

"And why not?" He knows he looks as gleeful as he feels.

She plasters on a fake smile. "Because, _dear husband_ , if you do say that phrase, you will be spending our weekend away on the couch – alone. Capisce?"

"Capisce."

"Good. I'm glad we're on the same page here. _Hank_!" She gasps as their son dumps an entire box of Legos into his suitcase, then pulls out another bag and drops in his impressive collection of toy cars. A third bag contains trains and their tracks. Their three year old has decided to forgo all essentials; taking his toys with him to Uncle Aubrey's is his top priority. Booth shakes his head as he watches Brennan squeeze the belongings he actually _needs_ into a fourth bag, which just so happens to be the smallest.

"You look like you're going away for a month with all those bags, buddy," he jokes, but all colour drains from his son's face and tears spring to his eyes.

" _A month_?" He sobs as he's lifted into his mom's arms, burying his face in her chest. "Don't leave me, mommy! Daddy!"

"We're not going for a month, Hank. Daddy was just being silly." She bounces him up and down in her arms, pressing errant kisses to his crown. "We'll see you on Monday, OK?"

"That's three sleeps. Can you count that on your fingers?"

Brennan helps him count one, two, three on his pudgy little fingers, all the while cuddling him close to her. "See? That's not very long, is it?"

"Plus, you'll be with me, Hank! And I've packed lots of fancy dress things so we can play dress up with Uncle Aubrey. That'll be fun, right?" The three year old nods reluctantly, the tears ceasing, bringing a smile to his older sister's face. "We'll have so much fun you won't even realise mommy and daddy aren't there."

All semblance of calm disappears when Brennan announces it's time to leave and he clings to her like a Koala Bear all over again.

 _Aubrey could be in for an interesting weekend_ , Booth thinks silently. _If Hank actually allows us to leave, that is._

* * *

"Here we are," Booth says brightly as he kills the engine and glances over his shoulder at his two youngest children. He'd kept a keen eye on them during the entire half hour drive to Aubrey's apartment building in his rear view mirror and his son still appears to be on edge, despite Christine's best efforts to improve his mood. The poor kid really doesn't like to be separated from his parents – especially his mom – and they've just sprung this trip on him with no preparation or warning. It's understandable that he's upset right now; Booth just hopes Hank will relax once they're with Aubrey and everything settles down. If not, his partner could be in for an uncomfortable and sleep-deprived few days.

"Are you ready, you two?"

Christine nods in response and elbows Hank in encouragement. He nods, although he still looks terrified at the prospect of spending his weekend without his parents, grandparents or Angela, who he absolutely adores.

"Let's go then, Booths!" Booth, Brennan and Christine climb out and the eight year old runs round to the opposite side of Booth's SUV so she can help her little brother out of his car seat while their parents unpack the trunk. Once the vehicle is empty and all locked up, Booth picks up the two heavy suitcases with Brennan and Christine sharing the rest of the luggage. "How'd Hank end up carrying nothing?" Booth asks, rolling his eyes as the little monkey scampers ahead with nothing but his teddy bear as Booth is left wrestling with the hefty load.

"It's quite ironic considering most of this stuff belongs to him," Brennan comments, beginning to walk towards the building.

"Ironic, huh? I just think he's been spending too much time with your father. He's already learning how to con us and he's _three_."

"My father has nothing to do with it, Booth. He clearly takes after you."

" _Me_?" Booth pauses as he holds the door to the building open for his family, raising his eyes at his wife. "What have I got to do with it?"

"I've been told many stories about you when you were Hank's age by Pops and your mom. Apparently, you'd always create a big mess but you'd never tidy it up yourself. Does that sound like anyone we know?"

Booth's cheeks flush pink. "Well… yes. I'm sure he'll grow out of it."

"Mmm. Sure." Brennan grins at him as they start to ascend the stairs, the suitcases creating a _thump, thump, thump_ sound as Booth drags them over the risers. "Aubrey's on the third floor, right?"

"You got it, Bones," he says. One more flight to go. His biceps are burning and sweat is pooling on his brow. He really needs to teach his children the meaning of packing light because he's not in his twenties anymore – their crap is _heavy._

Eventually, after feeling like he's climbed Everest, they reach the third floor and walk along the corridor. They stop in front of apartment 307 and Hank – insisting he be the one to do it – raps his knuckles against the wooden door. Moments later, it opens and Aubrey appears in front of them.

He's dressed in more casual clothes – jeans and a blue knit sweater – than the usual suit and tie they've become accustomed to seeing him in. His hair is a little messier too and he's clearly gone unshaven. The broad grin on his face, however, is very familiar.

"Hey guys!"

"Hi, Uncle Aubrey!" Christine says happily. "Are you excited about spending the weekend with us?"

"Of course I am, mini-Booth," he replies, using the nickname for her that's just stuck. His mouth drops open as he takes in the mass of _stuff_ surrounding Booth and Brennan's feet. "You bring everything you own? You're only here for the weekend, right? Unless your parents have something to tell me."

Christine clicks her tongue in that disapproving big sister way. "No, it's just Hank."

"This isn't even _half_ the junk they own," Booth mutters darkly. He's had to throw out some of his beloved socks and hockey sticks just to make room for it all. "Kids these days have so many toys and apparently Hank thought he needed to bring all this."

"Ah, well, I'm sure we'll have fun playing with it all while your mommy and daddy are away, huh, Hank?"

The three year old doesn't respond. He wraps his arms around Booth's shin and hides his face behind his dad.

"He's anxious about us l-e-a-v-i-n-g," Brennan explains, noticing Aubrey's confusion.

"Ah." The FBI agent nods in understanding; he was the same way whenever his mom had to leave when he was a kid. He kneels down to Hank's level and begins to cajole him. "It's just me and Christine, buddy. You'll be fine. Come on inside."

Hank shakes his head determinedly. "Don't wanna."

"I'm sure your mommy and daddy will bring you lots of pressies if you behave like a good boy and come inside, right?" He glances up at Booth and Brennan, who – for Hank's sake – agree enthusiastically. " _See_? You want presents, don't you, buddy?"

"Yeah, but-."

"You'll have so much fun, sweetheart," Brennan promises, tousling his hair. "It's only one weekend and afterwards we'll spend as much time with you as you like, OK?"

"OK," the three year old mumbles reluctantly, loosening the firm grip he had on his dad's leg. "I'm gonna miss you."

"We'll miss both of you very, very much too."

They give out lots of kisses and cuddles while Aubrey watches on, admiring his partner's super cute family. He hopes that one day he and Jessica can experience a similar thing. He loves his girlfriend – _obviously_ – however, seeing Booth and Brennan interact with their kids as they say their goodbyes, he thinks there's a whole new, even more rewarding type of love between parents and children. He can't wait to share that feeling with the beautiful redhead he's lucky enough to spend his life with.

"Aubrey, can you…" Booth says, interrupting his reverie about his future with Jess. He nods his head at little Hank whose arms are now tightly clasped around Booth's neck.

"Right. Of course." He prises the three year old from his father, freeing Booth, but causing Hank to kick up a fuss again. Tears are streaming down the small boy's cheeks and Aubrey is totally clueless about what to do. He bounces the child in his arms in the hopes it will be successful.

Spoiler alert: it's not.

"I promise we can do whatever you like as soon as your stinky, boring parents are gone," he tries, winking conspiratorially at Hank and Christine.

"I'm still your boss, Aubrey," Booth deadpans, not impressed by the insinuation that he is stinky or boring.

"We should leave," Brennan decides. "We're just prolonging the inevitable and making it harder for the kids."

"You're absolutely right." Booth grins at his wife. They transfer the luggage into Aubrey's hall, wave goodbye to Christine and Hank and then Aubrey shuts the door between them, leaving him alone in his apartment with his partner's two children.

He gulps as the enormity of the situation dawns upon him.

His place is not that big. Off the light, airy hallway are two decent-sized bedrooms and a bathroom that his tub only just squeezes into. His kitchen is quite small, too, which is disappointing considering it's his favourite room in the house. His simply decorated living room is modest and homey, with pictures of him with his mom, Jess and his friends displayed on the off-white walls, the comfortable sofa and the wide-screen TV sitting pride-of-place in the corner of the room. It's not a lot, but bearing in mind his government funded paycheck, it's all he can afford. Besides, it's normally only him and sometimes Jessica here; right now there are two young kids and a whole heap of their stuff. The walls seem to close in on him as he stands stock-still in the hallway, racking his brain for something fun they can do to distract Christine and Hank from their parents going away without them.

As usual, his first thought is about food.

He hasn't eaten in about thirty minutes (way too long!) and now it's on his mind, his stomach starts to rumble in hunger. He quickly runs through the contents of his cupboards and fridge and remembers he has some dough bases he hasn't used yet. Perfect. Delicious _and_ an entertaining activity for the kids.

He claps his hands together, capturing their attention. "How about the three of us make some homemade pizzas for dinner?"

Christine, who later announces while they're washing their hands that she loves doing this with her mommy, eagerly agrees, hurrying into Aubrey's kitchen, Hank on her heels, his stuffed bear traipsing along the floor after him.

They decide upon making a Margherita Pizza because it's the quickest and easiest to do. Hank and Christine squirt nearly an entire tube of tomato puree onto the dough base and messily spread it over the circular shape. The source is heaped in the centre of the soon-to-be pizza and is thinly spread around the outside. There's bits of sauce dropping over the edge, but the Booth kids look really proud of themselves and Hank is finally smiling so Aubrey doesn't have the heart to fix it for them. Next, he retrieves a packet of already grated mozzarella from the fridge and opens it up. Hank sticks his hand right in there, grabbing a huge handful of cheese and dropping it in the middle of the circle again so there's almost nothing on the outside. Aubrey tries to suggest they make the topping more even, but Hank just shoots him a sharp glare and Aubrey holds his hands up in defeat. _I guess I'm just having sauce on my pizza then_ , he thinks glumly.

"Have you got any normal tomatoes?" Christine questions. Although Hank may be happy with it, she's the older sister and the pizza doesn't quite look finished to her expert eye.

"Of course. Just let me slice them, OK?" No way is he risking Christine or Hank cutting themselves. Their parents might kill him. He gets out the cherry tomatoes from the fridge and slices them in half. As he finishes each one, Christine pops it onto the pizza so it eventually creates a face, with eyes, a nose and a big ol' smile.

"Like it, Uncle Aubrey?"

"Love it, Christine," he responds, giving her a thumbs up. "Now to put it into the oven…" He makes sure the kids are standing back, then opens the door and slides the pizza into the already pre-heated oven, closes it and sets the timer. Surveying the kitchen, he's glad to realise they haven't made anywhere near the mess they did at Booth and Brennan's house and ushers the children into the living room so they can watch cartoons until dinner is ready.

 _So far, so good_ , he thinks as he relaxes on the sofa, relieved that Christine and Hank are both happy now, nobody is injured, the kitchen is clean and it won't be long before he has some yummy food in his tummy.

* * *

After dinner everything is peaceful for a while. They watch TV together, Christine reads to Hank and the kids have a quick conversation with their parents over the phone. However, it's not until Aubrey realises what time it is – and that it's well past both their bedtimes – that the drama really unfolds.

"Don't wanna go sleep," Hank says grumpily, folding his arms across his chest. "I'm staying here."

"No, buddy, you can't. It's late… you need to get to bed. We have to be up early in the morning so we can take Christine to dance class."

"No. Not tired."

Aubrey looks helplessly at Christine. _It was all going to plan… what do I do now_? He asks himself, silently panicking. He knows that if he doesn't get them to bed sharp-ish, they're going to be tired and irritable tomorrow when they need to be up and out.

"Come on, Hank… Be a good boy," Christine says, her voice pleading as an exhausted yawn escapes her.

"Don't wanna." He glares at his big sister with a ferocity that could rival his father.

"But you need to," Aubrey replies earnestly. He reaches out to pick up the three year old, who merely smacks his hands away.

Ow. _Ow._ That really hurt. _How is he so strong?!_

"Nope." He drops back onto the sofa and switches the TV back on, raising the volume to an unbearable level that Aubrey's pretty sure the entire building can hear. He's going to get some major complaints about that one.

The FBI agent turns the television off again and makes to grab for Hank, but the little devil manages to dart away at the last second. Growling, Aubrey moves around the sofa Hank is hiding behind and just about catches him. The youngest Booth kicks out his legs frantically, desperate for Aubrey to put him down, but his babysitter does no such thing. He carries Hank into the spare room, Christine following them and shutting the door after herself.

"Here we go. PJs on." He hands Christine her purple and pink floral pyjama top and bottoms, while Hank receives his smaller Mickey Mouse alternative. They get themselves changed and Aubrey puts their dirty clothes in a pile in the corner. They jump into their respective beds and Aubrey's about to tuck them in when Hank interrupts the planned sleeping arrangements.

"Stay here, Unca Aubrey!"

Aubrey's pupils dilate. He wants him to _what_?

"He has his own bed, Hank, just like mommy and daddy do. He has to go sleep in that bed," Christine says, to no avail. Her little brother's not listening.

"I want him to stay here," Hank demands impatiently.

"There's no bed for me here, buddy."

The three year old gestures to the empty floor space between the two occupied twin beds. It's hardwood floor. "You can sleep there."

"I can sleep on the _floor_? Oh Gee, thank you, Hank. I really appreciate your kind offer."

Christine covers her mouth with her hand in order to stifle her giggles.

"You can have this comforter," Hank says, deciding that will make the sleeping position more comfortable and throwing the _tinies_ t piece of fabric to Aubrey. It's fall. In DC. No way is that thing going to keep him warm. And what about his back? It's going to kill him in the morning. His expression is obviously uncertain as Hank begins to plead with him. "We miss mommy and daddy and we don't want to be alone, right, Christine?"

"Right," she agrees eventually. Aubrey raises his eyebrows at her and her cheeks flush pink. It's not like she misses her parents or anything. She's not a _baby_. She's doing this for Hank. Just for Hank.

Aubrey sighs. He's not going to get himself out of this one. "Fine, I'll stay, but you've gotta get me some pillows ready while I get changed."

He leaves the room and pops in next door, pulling his PJs from his chest of drawers. He quickly changes and returns to the Booth kids, surprised to see the makeshift "bed" (if you can even call it that) lying between them. It consists of a couple of old, lumpy pillows and the tiny comforter. _Getting to sleep tonight could be a challenge_ , he thinks grudgingly as he switches off the nightlight and the room plunges into darkness. He settles down on the "bed", wishes Hank and Christine a good night sleep (even though he knows he's not going to get one himself) and closes his eyes.

 _These pillows suck._ He sticks his hands underneath them, adjusting his head position to make himself more comfortable. It doesn't work. He rolls over onto his other side. _Ouch. There's something poking my back._ Internally grumbling, he feels around beneath him, his palm coming into contact with one of Hank's Lego blocks. Resisting the urge to curse, he sets the plastic piece to one side and squeezes his eyes shut.

 _I'm not even tired yet_ , he thinks exasperatedly, re-opening his eyes. He wouldn't normally go to sleep for another two or three hours. He stares up at the ceiling and wonders if he could sneak out without Christine and Hank noticing. He peels back the comforter and stands up slowly, trying not to make any sudden movements that will disturb the kids. He tiptoes towards the door and is about to rejoice when he hears a small voice from behind him.

Startled, he spins around to find Christine sat up in bed, balling her hands as she rubs sleep out of her eyes. She's staring at him in confusion. "What are you doing?"

"I, um, need some water," he improvises.

Doubt is written all over her face.

"All right. Fine. I was sneaking out to go to my own bed. I can't sleep."

"Have you tried counting sheep?" She asks seriously. "That's what my Grandpa Max always suggests."

"I have not."

"Maybe you should do that then," she says, nodding at the floor space. "Come back and lie down. Hank will be upset if he wakes up and you're not here."

Aubrey supposes that's a fair point. He doesn't want to worry the little guy, so he traipses back to the bed and lies down. He shuts his eyes and re-opens them moments later, a pink giraffe dangling in front of his face. He glances at Christine. "What's this?"

"The giraffe I've had since I was a baby. She always helps me fall asleep; maybe she'll help you too," the eight year old whispers, her tone leaving no room for negotiation. She drops the stuffed animal on his chest and immediately falls back to sleep.

Aubrey tries to do the same, but even after counting one hundred woolly, white mammals and hugging the mini-Booth's giraffe, he is still wide awake. And, just as he thinks his night can't get any worse, Christine starts to snore. Loudly.

"You have got to be kidding me," he grumbles, covering his ears with his pillow. Resistance is futile. He can still hear her snoring and comes to the harsh realisation that he's not getting any sleep tonight.

* * *

Booth lets a big yawn escape as he and Brennan approach the check-in counter, luggage, passports and tickets in hand. It's a six am flight so there's only a short line, mostly consisting of businessmen in tailored suits carrying smart leather briefcases. Booth turns to his wife while they wait for their turn and shakes his head. It's crazy how early in the morning it is and even crazier that she still looks great. He swears his wife doesn't have a single imperfection; no dark circles, no bleary, tired eyes, nothing. He, on the other hand, looks and feels like crap. It's too early to be awake – the sun isn't even up! – and his appearance certainly reflects that. He has dark circles, a 5 o'clock shadow and he was too tired to fix his hair this morning so it's mussed and gel-free. But Brennan, she looks amazing.

"You look amazing," he tells her sincerely, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. "How did I get so lucky?"

"No idea. It must have been a fluke," she teases, her gorgeous blue-grey eyes sparkling.

"Must have been," he echoes, stepping forward as the suited-up man at the desk finishes and he walks away. The man in front of them in the queue begins his checking-in process as Booth continues to flirt with his wonderful wife. "I love this top on you."

"Yeah?" She glances down at the over-sized grey tee with the Flyers logo printed over her chest. Her eyes meet Booth's and a smile creeps onto her face. "I borrowed it from some guy."

"Some guy, huh? He must be pretty nice to let you wear his top."

"Well, actually, I may have stolen it. He had no idea."

"Oh, you _stole_ it. That's interesting." His eyes keep flicking between the woman at the Air Canada counter and his wife, making sure they don't miss their turn. The passenger in front seems to be having some trouble with the weight of his baggage though, granting them a little more time to carry on with his conversation. "You see, I'm the Deputy Director of the FBI, so I could totally have you arrested for theft."

She looks up at him from beneath her hooded lids. "Would you handcuff me, Deputy Director?"

He gulps, his eyes darkening. "Most definitely," he chokes out, feeling like he might explode. _Why does his wife have to be so hot and why do they have to be in public?_

"Then it's stolen," she confesses, smirking. "And I have no desire to give it back."

"Well, then, I have no choice but to handcuff you, Dr." As he leans down to touch his lips to hers and steal something of his own, the Air Canada woman impatiently shouts "NEXT!", breaking the couple apart.

They hurry towards her desk, murmuring apologies for the delay, their cheeks flushed red. She doesn't seem to care though.

"Put your suitcase on here, please," she instructs monotonously, not even looking at them as she smacks the gum between her bright red lips. When her eyes eventually leave her computer screen to accept their documentation, they widen exponentially and she starts choking on her gum.

Booth's mouth drops open. "Oh my God. Are you OK, ma'am?"

"Do we need to perform the Heimlich manoeuvre?" Brennan queries, worry written all over her face. They are attracting a lot of attention and she feels like she should do something more than just standing here watching.

"No, no, I-I'm OK… just… you're… you're D-Dr B-Brennan," the woman sputters, her speech intermingled with coughs as she tries to clear the gum out of her airway.

"Yes, I am. That's what it says on my passport."

The woman – who's name badge reads Cindy – eventually stops choking and takes a sip of her water. "No, you're _the_ Dr. Temperance Brennan! The mystery novelist! I _love_ your books!"

"Right," Brennan says quietly, embarrassed. She's always been terrible at dealing with fan encounters. "Well, uh, thank you."

"I'm literally your biggest fan ever I've read all your books over and over and over because they're so brilliant and _oh my God_ my friends are never gonna believe I met you. Hell, _I_ can't believe I've met you. You're actually _real_. Oh my God! This is the best day of my entire life-."

"I'm pretty sure _I'm_ her biggest fan," Booth cuts into her over-excited, breathless ramble and slings his arm around his wife's shoulder, flashing her his signature charm smile.

Cindy's pupils dilate further as realisation dawns. "You're Special Agent Seeley Booth! You're Agent Andy! Oh my God, I can't believe this!"

"Just calm down, all right? We don't want you to start choking again, do we?"

"No, no, it's fine, look," she says, spitting her gum into her hand and then lifting it up to prove it to them. "No more gum."

"We can see that," Brennan replies, failing to hide the disgust from her tone. "Can you get on with checking us in now? We'd like to enjoy breakfast before the flight."

"Of course, anything for the greatest crime writer in the history of the world." She begins tapping away at her keyboard, looking back up at Booth and Brennan with a brilliant smile. "I've upgraded you to First Class for your flight to Montreal today."

"Both of us?" The change in pitch is evidence of Booth's surprise. Normally, they only upgrade Brennan and he has to spend the duration of the flight separated from her.

"Of course both of you. You know, I've always had a _major_ crush on Agent Andy." She winks at him, her attraction to Booth going undisguised.

"It's a shame he's married then, huh?" He caresses Brennan's shoulder to reassure her that he's not interested in anyone else and never will be.

"A _huge_ shame. Can I have a picture?"

Brennan hesitates. Again, fan encounters make her uncomfortable, even more so when she's with her family. She can't even check her and her husband into a flight without being harassed for pictures. She exchanges meaningful looks with Booth; he always knows what to do in situations like these.

"Go ahead, Bones."

"OK. One picture." She grimaces as Cindy dances around the counter and over to them, squeezing herself in between Booth and Brennan.

"Smile!" She says excitedly, holding her phone out for a selfie and grinning at the camera. Booth and Brennan's surprised smiles are much more forced. Cindy gives them both tight hugs then rounds the counter again to finish off her job. She prints off the label and affixes it to the handle of their shared suitcase, pressing the button on her desk to send it down the conveyor belt.

As Booth and Brennan walk away from the check-in area, Booth's arm snaked around his wife's waist, amusement twinkles in his eyes. "She was… _interesting_."

"Yeah… Sorry about that. I hate it when fans interrupt family time."

He shakes his head. That doesn't matter to him. He gets to be with his wife all the time, they don't; he doesn't mind sacrificing a minute or two for a mega-fan to meet their idol. "They want pictures because you're the best, Bones. You should take it as a compliment."

"I suppose you're right," she acquiesces. "She _did_ upgrade us to First Class and I'll certainly enjoy that, even if it is a relatively short flight."

Booth agrees, over-the-moon that he finally gets to join his wife, rather than having to sit alone in economy. "Just one of the many things I love about you, Bones."

"That I get your plane tickets upgraded?" She questions, arching one perfectly-shaped brow.

He grins. "Exactly."

Her blue-grey eyes sparkling, she asks, "What else do you love about me?"

"Oh, I don't know. How long have you got? That's a long list, Bones."

Pleased by his romantic response, she stops walking and presses her lips to his. They continue kissing until an uptight security guard interrupts them and tells them to move along before they create a scene.

"Damn newlyweds," he mutters under his breath as they disappear around a corner.

* * *

Aubrey's fork spears the final piece of maple syrup soaked waffle left on the plate and he pops it into his mouth, chewing slowly in order to savour the deliciousness and sate his hunger until at least mid-morning. He picks up his and Hank's now-empty plates and lowers them into the sink. He hasn't got enough time to wash them now so they'll have to do it later. Back at the circular table, Hank is draining his beaker of milk, a white moustache above his lip evidence of his calcium-filled breakfast drink. Aubrey wipes it away with a damp cloth and sends him into the living room to put on his sneakers.

"Did you like breakfast this morning, buddy?" the FBI agent asks as he joins him, lacing his own sneakers.

"It was all right."

Aubrey balks at his careless tone. He'd spent ages perfecting those waffles and the only response the three year old can come up with is _all right_? "The waffles were only all right?"

"Yeah." Unconcerned by Aubrey, he unmutes the TV and immediately starts giggling at the Spongebob episode currently onscreen.

 _Unbelievable. Un-fricking-believable._

"What was wrong with the waffles, Hank?"

He shrugs. "They weren't as good as daddy's. He's the best at making waffles in the whole world!"

"I don't know how, we have the exact same machine," Aubrey mutters under his breath. Checking his wrist watch, he sees they only have ten minutes before they need to leave for Christine's dance class. He and Hank and both ready to rock 'n' roll, but the eight year old ballerina has yet to reappear from the spare bedroom since she hurried in there after finishing her breakfast. Deciding to check on her progress – and potentially speed her along – he eases himself up from the couch (his back is still a little sore after last night) and heads towards the bedroom. He knocks on the closed door. " _Christine_? You in there?"

"Obviously," she replies, the word overflowing with sass.

"When do you think you're gonna be ready? We've gotta go!"

"Soon, Uncle Aubrey. I'm just putting my tutu on," she snaps.

"OK." He backs away from the door, his eyebrows raised and his hands help up in surrender. As he eagerly awaits her arrival, his thoughts are consumed with one thing: _what the hell is a tutu_?!

Eventually the door opens and Christine steps into the hallway. She's dressed in a pale pink leotard, a sheer mesh skirt in the same colour that sticks outwards (is _that_ the tutu?), a cardigan that crosses over her chest and her scruffy sneakers with a rather full-looking bag slung over her shoulder, which he assumes contains her ballet slippers.

He sighs in relief. They won't be late after all. "Right then, let's go!"

"Not yet!"

"Why not?" He shakes his head in confusion. She's dressed for the part, so what's the problem? Why can't they leave?

She gestures at her hair.

"Your _hair_? It looks the same as normal. It looks great. What's the problem?"

She stares at him like he's an alien with two heads. "I can't wear my hair _down_ , Uncle Aubrey! It needs to be in a bun!"

He has a feeling he knows where this conversation is going and he doesn't like it one bit. "And I assume you can't do that bun thing by yourself?" He asks anyway, dreading her response.

"Nope," she says predictably. "My mommy always does it for me. Or Auntie Angela when she sometimes takes me to ballet."

"And neither of them is here," he states the obvious.

"No. Which is why you need to do it for me."

His mouth forms an 'o' shape as she produces a handful of hair ties and bobby pins. "Christine… I really don't know how to-."

"You work for the FBI. Do your FBI thing," she says, spinning around to grant him access to the back of her hair.

"Do my FBI thing?" He murmurs, totally bewildered by the situation. He's never done anything like this before. While he wishes he had time to phone Jess and get her to do it, if they don't leave in seven minutes Christine will miss her class and he will be castrated – or worse – by the mini-Booth's parents. It's apparently the best dance school in DC – and with that come very high fees. "OK." He takes a deep breath and scoops up all her hair into one hand. A few strands fall out, but he quickly collects them again and then ties the bunch into a high ponytail. _Hmm_ , he thinks, taking a step back to assess his work. It doesn't look too shabby for his first time. Under Christine's precise instructions (he shouldn't have expected anything less from the daughter of Dr. Temperance Brennan), he twists the ponytail so it forms a kind of bun shape and fixes it with a hair band. Any short, loose strands, he grips back with bobby pins. "Done! Come on, Hank! We've gotta go! Chop chop!"

He hears the TV switch off and Hank comes running into the hall moments later. He immediately points at Christine's hair and starts laughing.

"What's so funny?" She demands, her cheeks heating up. She places her hand on her hip and stares her brother down.

Oh, boy.

Aubrey may be an only child, but he knows the beginnings of a sibling fight when he sees one. And they do _not_ have time for this. They've got to get in the car, like, right now. That's what chop chop means!

"Your hair's funny," Hank taunts and, much to Aubrey's dismay, Christine sprints into the bathroom to see what he's talking about.

She returns on the brink of tears.

"Christine, what's wrong?"

"There are bumps, Uncle Aubrey. _Bumps_!"

He's completely lost. He was trained to catch bad guys, not to be a hair stylist. "Is that a bad thing?"

"Yes!" She cries. "I can't go to ballet with _bumps_ in my hair! They'll all laugh at me."

"We can't have that, can we?" With a brief glance at his watch, he sees they have a meagre four minutes to get rid of the bumps and get in his car. Even then, if there's heavy traffic, it's going to be touch-and-go whether they make it. His stress levels have never been higher than this very second, not even when he's had serial killers chasing after him. "How do I fix it?"

"You need to redo the entire bun, but this time smooth my hair out with your hand before you tie it up. _Smooth_ ," she reiterates, acting it out for him. "Can you do that?"

"I- I think so," he stammers. _God, I wish Jess was here_. His hands shaking, he takes out the hair bands and bobby pins and retraces his steps, this time ensuring her hair is bump-free before he puts it back in a bun. Christine checks herself in the bathroom mirror and is apparently pleased with the results as she grins widely at him. "Great. OK. Let's go." As he ushers them out of his apartment and locks the door behind them, he manages a quick glimpse at his watch. One minute to go. Phew. Just made it.

They race down the stairs and out of the building to his SUV parked in the lot outside. He opens the back doors and helps Christine and Hank into the car seats their parents remembered to leave with him. Once they're both fastened in the car, he slams the doors shut and hops in the driver's seat, pulling away as fast as he can without hitting any of his neighbour's vehicles. He's seriously considering switching his siren on but he's not sure whether the bureau would deem this a real emergency so he decides against it, just presses down on the accelerator pedal a little more.

"Are we going to be late, Uncle Aubrey?"

The car pulls to a stop at a red light. Their third in a row. Aubrey can't lie to her – especially since she looks extra adorable in her dance attire – so he sighs and says, "Maybe."

"If we're late I'm telling mommy and daddy on you."

 _That's just what I need._

The light turns green and he accelerates away, takes the next left and then a right. Christine's dance school is actually closer to his apartment than the Booth family home; within ten minutes they've parked and are sprinting frantically into the building. He can feel the disapproving glares of the dance moms on the back of his neck as Christine is the last one into class. They got her there just in the nick of time.

Exhausted, he collapses on one of the comfortable chairs outside the room and Hank clambers into his lap. Neither of them say anything for a while, content to watch the flashes of pink tulle through the small window into the class, but then Hank announces – loudly, to Aubrey's chagrin – that he's bored. The FBI agent turned pro-babysitter hands him his cell phone to play games on which keeps the mini-Booth entertained while Aubrey sits still and relaxes after his restless night.

Some time later, a kind looking woman with white hair and wrinkled features takes the chair beside them.

He gives her a friendly smile, wrapping his arms around Hank's middle as he shifts on Aubrey's knee.

"He's adorable," the old woman says, nodding at Hank.

"Oh, yeah, he is," Aubrey agrees, tousling the three year old's unruly hair.

"How many do you have?"

Aubrey's pupils dilate. _What_? She thinks Hank is his _son_? Oh, no. No way. "He isn't mine," he feels the need to say quickly, then, realising how that sounds, he adds, flustered, "I'm not kidnapping him. I swear. I'm just babysitting him and his sister while their parents are in Canada for the weekend."

"Ah." She flashes him a knowing smile. "I'm watching my granddaughter for my son. Babysitting is exhausting, isn't it?"

"Tell me about it."

She laughs softly. "Hey, I have some spare snacks in my bag if the little guy wants some."

"Yeah, I do!" Hank responds enthusiastically, outstretching his hands towards the treat.

"Say thank you," Aubrey reminds him in a loud whisper.

"Thank you!"

The grandmother smiles as she hands him a packet of salted chips. "You're very welcome, little man."

Aubrey tries his hardest to school his features, to remain polite. _The snacks are for the kids, Aubrey, not you. Get over yourself._ However, he can't hide the desire from his eyes. They're his favourite brand of chips and he's so hungry and-.

"Would you like some too?" The grandmother asks, smirking.

He grins broadly, accepting the packet eagerly and tearing it open. "I thought you'd never ask," he says, his mouth already stuffed with a handful of one of his favourite treats.

* * *

"Ballet was so much fun," Christine declares as they enter Aubrey's apartment after her dance class.

"I know. You told us about fifty times during the drive," Aubrey teases her, grinning broadly. According to the eight year old it had been the most fun lesson ever as they'd been rehearsing for their upcoming woodland themed recital and Christine got to practise her solo in front of all the other girls and boys. "You two want any drinks?"

"Milk!"

"Milk, _please_ ," Christine corrects, turning to Aubrey and tsking at her little brother's lack of manners. "Children these days. Can't even remember their pleases and thank yous. I'll have a glass of water, please, Uncle Aubrey."

Muffling his laughter with his hand, he says, "Coming right up! Why don't you two set your toys up in the bedroom? I'll be with you in a minute." The Booth kids nods their agreement and scamper away while he pauses for a moment in the hallway. That Christine is a funny one. She's a great big sister who clearly loves Hank and would protect him to the end of the Earth, but she equally enjoys bossing him around and chastising him and the "children these days" at any given opportunity. They're both wonderful children – a credit to their parents. Deciding he better get a move on with the drinks before Christine starts telling _him_ off for being a bad host or something, he hurries into the kitchen. Just as he's about to remove a glass for Christine and a plastic beaker for Hank from the overhead cabinet, the doorbell rings. Wondering who that could be because he hasn't ordered anything or invited anybody over, he returns to the hallway. Glancing through the peephole he instantly recognises the long red hair plaited over one shoulder and the floral, Bohemian style dress. He unlocks the door, a smile forming due to his girlfriend's surprise visit.

"Hey, Superman," she greets, slipping inside the apartment and allowing Aubrey to pull her into a sweet embrace. "Sorry I didn't call. I was just passing by so I thought I'd come see your handsome face."

He smirks, not believing her story one bit. "You were passing by?"

"Yep."

"You live on the other side of town. You have no reason to be other than visiting me. You missed me!"

Her porcelain skin flushes pink. "Well… I… Damn it. I can't lie to you, Aubrey. Yes, I missed you."

"I knew it!" He exclaims gleefully, giving her a celebratory kiss.

"Well?" She raises her brows expectantly.

"Well what?"

"Normally when your significant other says they missed you, it's common knowledge that you're supposed to return the sentiment."

"Of course I missed you. I always miss you when we're not together. I did ask you to move in with me…"

"I know," she says softly, running her fingers through his short, dark hair, "and I told you I couldn't bail on my rental agreement until the contract ends. I can't just leave people in the lurch like that, as much as I do want to live with you."

"Will you compromise and spend the rest of the weekend with me?"

"I'd love to, Superman." She presses her lips to his again and is unbuttoning the top of his plaid shirt when the door to the spare bedroom opens and Christine Booth steps out. Hastily, she shoves Aubrey away. "You didn't tell me you were babysitting again," she chokes out, shooting him a sharp glare. Her boss' daughter nearly caught them undressing each other, for God's sake!

"I got distracted," he murmurs, doing up the button Jess had just undone. "You don't mind, do you? I could use some help from my favourite person."

"It's OK and I'd love to assist. I love kids and it's good practise, right?" She winks at him and his face promptly goes as red as a tomato.

Unknowingly intruding upon the moment, Christine asks him about their forgotten drinks and he curses under his breath. He was about to make them when the doorbell rang and he saw his girlfriend and she started kissing him and then made a very obvious reference to them having kids together…

"Uncle Aubrey? _Drinks_?"

Oh, right, yeah. He must have zoned out at the thought of little Jessica Warrens crawling all over the place. "I'll go do them now." He strolls into the kitchen and pours Hank some milk into his beaker, Christine a glass of water and two coffees for him and Jessica. He brings all the drinks into the hallway on a tray and discovers the two girls deep in conversation. His pupils dilate when he realises they're talking about _him_.

"Uh, what's going on?" He questions, sidling over to them after depositing the drinks on the side table.

"Christine just asked me if I was your girlfriend."

"I already told you and Michael she was, remember?" He says to the nosy eight year old.

She shrugs. "I thought you were lying."

"You thought I was _lying_? Why?"

She shrugs again. "I've never seen you with a girlfriend and neither has Michael so we assumed you didn't want to sound lonely and made her up. But Jessica says you are a couple, that you kiss and everything."

He exchanges a pleasantly surprised smile with the forensic anthropologist. "Jess is right. We love each other."

"Gross," Christine replies, crinkling her nose up in disgust. Much to Booth's relief, she's still in the phase where she finds most boys (except for those in her family and Michael Vincent) completely repulsive. "Will you play dress up with me?"

"Of course I will, mini-Booth," he agrees eagerly. Too eagerly in Jessica's opinion. She gives him a quizzical look and he grins back at her. "What? It sounds fun!"

Her eyes sparkle in amusement as she follows Aubrey (who is following Christine) into the spare bedroom. They've been in there all of thirty seconds and Christine is already giving out her orders. "She is exactly like her mother," Jess whispers playfully in Aubrey's ear.

"She certainly is," he chuckles and is immediately reprimanded by the eight year old for not paying attention. "Sorry, Christine. Tell me again."

She huffs overdramatically like having to repeat herself is the most tedious task in the world (a trait she most definitely inherited from her father.) After a long, drawn out, melodramatic pause filled with an abundance of eye rolls, she decides she'll say it again, even though she maintains Aubrey should have been listening the first time around. "We're going to play dress up and I'm going to be the cop just like daddy is. You can be the princess I have to save from the evil dragon."

"Why do I have to be the princess? I'm a cop too!"

"Not as good a one as my daddy and since I'm his daughter, that means I'd be a badass cop too," she says decisively.

 _How the hell does she know "badass"_? _This kid is seriously cool._ Even though if Booth heard her say that, he'd probably have some kind of conniption, Aubrey lets it slide. He thinks it's funny.

As she rummages around in her suitcase, searching for the perfect outfits for them to wear, Aubrey looks over to the other side of the room where Jess is sitting cross-legged in front of Hank. She picks up a red monster truck and rolls it down the three year old's arms, the engine sounds she's making causing him to giggle uncontrollably. Aubrey's lips twist upwards into a tender smile. It's a nice sight – seeing Jess playing with kids. She really is good with them. She'd be an amazing mother.

" _Uncle Aubrey?"_

He turns back to Christine to find her with a captain's hat perched lopsidedly on her head, a police windbreaker over her leotard she refuses to change out of and a too-big pair of aviators he thinks he's seen before.

"Did you steal those sunglasses from your dad, Christine?"

Avoiding the question, she hands him a child's size pink and purple dress with a sparkly tiara. He's an FBI agent. Not answering the question means she totally _did_ steal them from Booth's extensive collection and, by the blush on her cheeks, he suspects her father doesn't yet know about the expensive pair of shades that have mysteriously gone missing. He stares at the dress sceptically. "I'm not sure I'm going to be able to fit in this, Christine."

"But my dad said you would. He said you're scrawny, whatever that means."

"It means I'm really skinny," he explains. It's not a particularly nice way of saying it though, he thinks darkly. "Even so, I don't want to rip your pretty dress."

"You won't!" She argues.

"Do you want to risk it?"

Eventually she concedes and settles for him being a princess who wears plaid shirts, dark wash jeans and converse instead. However, the plastic tiara still holds the highest importance so she unceremoniously sticks it on his head.

"All right. Now we can play. Hank, do you want to be the evil dragon? _Hank_? Listen to me!"

"I think he's happy playing with his own toys right now," Aubrey says to a surly-faced Christine. "The evil dragon can be imaginary."

" _Fine_."

His frame shakes with mirth as she folds her arms across her chest. "OK, Detective Booth, what d'ya want me to do?"

"The evil dragon has captured you in a castle basement so you've gotta pretend to be trapped. Oh, and scared. Dragon's have fiery breath which is _very_ scary."

Following her instructions, he curls up in a ball and quivers with fear. "I do hope Detective Booth comes to save me soon," he says in a falsetto tone.

"Don't worry, beautiful princess. I'll save you!" Christine kicks down an imaginary door, then runs around the bedroom, looking under the comforters, in the suitcases, even in the closet for any sign of the evil dragon. Suddenly she draws her (plastic, fake) weapon from the elasticated waist of her tutu and aims it at the wall. "There you are _, punk_." She fires her gun, shouting "BAM BAM BAM" as the invisible bullets soar through the air, piercing the invisible dragon's scaly chest.

"My hero!" Aubrey wails melodramatically, much to Jessica's extreme amusement, who has stopped playing with cars to watch the scene before her.

Aubrey's phone begins to ring in his pocket, interrupting the climax of the story. He pulls out his cell, reading the caller ID. "Hey, mini-Booths, it's your mom and dad on Facetime!"

Toy cars and evil dragons are completely forgotten in a matter of seconds as they both dive for the phone. Christine clicks accept and their parents' faces fill the screen.

* * *

Booth and Brennan are lying atop the white bed sheets wearing their robes; still damp from the bath they'd just taken after an early flight and a long day exploring the city. Booth is holding the iPad out in front of him and Brennan is leaning into his side so she's in shot. The Facetime call connects and Christine's beaming face fills the screen.

"Mommy! Daddy!" She exclaims excitedly, like it's been decades since she last saw them, when in reality it's only been a day.

"Hi, sweetheart," Brennan says, her tone a little melancholy. Booth knows it's because – although it's clearly irrational – she's missing Christine and Hank very, very much. Seeing their daughter only serves to exacerbate the maternal longing to be with her kids.

"Hey there, beautiful! Where's Ha-." Their son's face pops up on the screen behind his sister, his broad grin showing off the adorable dimples he inherited from his father. "Oh, there you are! Hey, buddy! How're you doin'?"

"Good! I got to play toys with pretty Jess today and an old lady gave me some chips and we watched Christine dance and she was the best in the class! She told me so!"

 _Who the hell is pretty Jess and why is Aubrey letting strangers feed the kids?_ Deciding to have a little chat with their babysitter later on, Booth focuses on the last part of Hank's enthusiastic recount of his day. "Of course Christine was the best! She gets it from her dad, huh?"

"Mommy said you're not a very good dancer though," Christine dismisses him immediately.

He turns to his wife and gawps at her. "You said _what_?"

"I didn't say not very good, I say not as good as me. There's a difference."

"It's hilarious that you think that's true, Bones."

"It _is_ true!"

"No, it's not-."

"They're bickering again," Christine says exasperatedly to Hank with a Temperance Brennan-esque roll of her eyes.

"We're not bickering!"

"We never bicker," Brennan agrees. "We merely have healthy debates between husband and wife. That's _not_ bickering."

"It's hilarious that you think that's true, Bones," she repeats his words from before, her expression totally deadpan.

 _Did she just-_

 _I can't believe she just-_

 _I don't know where she got this sassy thing from but I do not like it one bit._

"Bones! Bones! Bones!" Hank cheers joyously, clapping his hands together.

Brennan clears her throat, redirecting the conversation back to what they were talking about before she and Booth were _not_ bickering. Dance. "Did you enjoy ballet then, sweetheart?"

The eight year old responds in the affirmative and proceeds to babble endlessly about her solo and how she can't wait for the recital and how it's _so not fair_ that Katie F gets _three_ solos when Christine is obviously the superior dancer. His daughter is not shy _at all_. She'll happily boast about her many skills and attributes until she's blue in the face. _Like mother, like daughter,_ Booth thinks, his chest vibrating with mirth.

"We nearly missed class though," Hank announces, unwittingly dropping Aubrey right in it.

"Yeah, we were late and the snooty moms did not look impressed!"

"You should have never called them snooty moms in front of her, Bones. What if she says that to them?" Booth whispers in his wife's ear, trying – and failing – to hide the amusement from his voice. They are pretty snooty. It's an appropriate term.

"It's not my fault, Booth," she hisses back. "They've looked down on me ever since they found out I was the only mom who never did ballet. I explained that I couldn't because of the asymmetrical development of my left iliac crest but they just looked at me like I was crazy and stalked off. Angela agrees; they _are_ snooty."

"I'm not saying they're not, just that Christine tends to copy everything you say and do. We don't want her getting kicked out of dance class."

"I'm getting kicked out of ballet?" Christine cries, managing to hear Booth, despite the low tone he was talking in. " _Why?"_

Hank looks equally concerned. "Is it because of her funny hair?"

"You're not getting excluded from ballet, sweetheart. Daddy was speaking hypothetically."

"What funny hair?"

"Uncle Aubrey didn't know how to put my hair in a bun so there were bumps, daddy! _Bumps!_ "

Injecting the appropriate amount of horror into his voice, he exclaims, "oh no! Did you tell him off?"

Without her replying, he knows that she did.

"Of course, daddy! I made him be the princess that got taken away by the evil dragon as punishment."

"I wish I could have seen that," Booth sniggers. "Aubrey in a tiara. Brilliant!"

"You can hardly judge him, Booth. You've worn that tiara more than once yourself," Brennan chastises, pulling a funny face at the camera and making Christine and Hank giggle.

He supposes she's right, just like always. Christine loves playing dress up and loves it even more when Booth plays the princess. He is always the best princess, apparently. That's Christine's persuasive technique she uses to convince him to play – telling him he's the best. She doesn't really need a technique though. He can't say no to her. All she has to do is turn those Brennan eyes on him and he's like putty. As a result, he's probably worn that damn tiara a hundred times compared to Aubrey's once.

Still.

He'd pay good money to see "Agent James" in the princess attire and acting as the damsel in distress.

"Mommy?" Hank says in a small voice, his lower lip quivering.

"Yes, sweetheart?"

"When are you and daddy coming home? I like playing with Uncle Aubrey and pretty Jess but I miss you."

Booth feels a sudden guilty pang in his chest as Brennan promises they'll be home in two more sleeps and their son's face falls, disappointed by the answer.

The door to the bedroom opens (as Aubrey and Jessica had left the kids to it when the call connected) and the redhead sticks her head through the gap. "Dinner will be ready in five minutes."

She closes the door after her and the family say their goodbyes and _I love yous_ and " _speak to you tomorrow_ "s. When the kids eventually allow them to hang up, Brennan rolls onto her side, glancing up at Booth.

"So, what do you wanna do now, Bones? It's been a long day." And it has. There's a dull ache in his back, his feet are killing him and he really doesn't feel like getting dressed and going out again.

"We could just order room service and have sex."

"I like the way you think, Temperance Brennan," he replies, smirking as he de-robes her and presses his lips to hers.

 ** _To be continued…_**

 **(Although I'm not sure when. I have started writing Part 2 and was going to wait to post Part 1 until both chapters were finished, but I thought since I've kept you waiting for so long, I could at least upload** ** _something_** **. I have just started uni and I'm not sure how busy I'm gonna be, but I'm aiming to have Part 2 written and posted in a week and a half-ish. Hopefully. *crosses fingers*)**

 **Please, please leave a review because they mean the world to me. Thank you! :)**


	3. Weekend Away Part 2

**So I left the previous chapter saying Part 2 would be written and posted and in "week and a half-ish"… It's been like 3 months. Well done, Niamh.**

After a much more comfortable nights sleep in his own bed with his girlfriend snuggled up next to him, Aubrey wanders into the kitchen, the tiles cool beneath his bare feet. He spies Jess at the counter, her hair loose and wavy from the plait she'd worn yesterday, dressed in his oversized (for her, anyway) FBI tee and a pair of fluffy socks because she always complains the floor is too cold. Deciding that he's had enough of admiring her from a distance, he sidles up behind her and snakes his arms around her middle. She jumps at first, but relaxes when she realises it's him.

"Morning, Superman," she says, turning around and closing the distance between their mouths. Aware that Christine and Hank could walk in at any second – and not wanting to be caught in a comprising position like the day before – she's hesitant to deepen the kiss, as much as she wants to. And she really, really wants to. Her boyfriend looks extra cute in the mornings with his hair all mussed and his PJs on. (He'd normally just be in his boxers, which she likes even more, however, since the kids are around, he'd wanted to cover up.) But they can't. Not here. Not right now. Not while he's babysitting Booth and Brennan's children. She presses one last chaste kiss on his lips, then pulls away to pick up their coffee cups.

"Cinnamon?" He asks as he accepts the mug from her, inhaling the scent. Mmm. Delicious.

"Of course," she replies as they take a seat on the couch. "Wouldn't dream of standing between you and your cinnamon flavoured coffee."

He grins. "You're smart, Jess."

"Yes, I am. So, what are you doing with the little ones today?"

"I was thinking of going to the park this morning. Wanna come?"

"I'd love to," she begins, her lips ticking up in a smile at his sweet offer. She loves how he's including her in his babysitting adventure. "But unfortunately I have to work on my dissertation."

"Boo! Can't you work on it another day? I know you'd much rather spend time with your super hot FBI agent slash boyfriend."

"I wouldn't say he's _super_ hot," she teases.

"Jess! C'mon! I let you wear my shirt, didn't I?"

"Only because I was in front of you naked and you had that dumbstruck expression on your face…" She chuckles, pinching his cheeks. "You would have agreed to anything I asked."

He shrugs. Can't deny that one. He totally would have. His girlfriend's boobs were the only thing on his mind, pushing every other thought aside.

"How about we have a movie night after Christine and Hank go to sleep?" She suggests, trying to make up for her absence at the park. "We can turn the lights down low, drink some wine, make out a little…"

"That sou-."

"What's making out mean?"

Jessica and Aubrey nearly jump out of their skin at the unexpected interruption. Their eyes dart over to where Christine and Hank stand, still in their pyjamas, watching the couple quizzically.

"What's making out mean?" Hank asks again.

 _Crap_.

There's no getting out of this.

Jessica's cheeks have flushed bright red, Aubrey's got that deer-in-the headlights expression…

"Is it something bad?"

"Daddy said he'd fire you if you taught us any bad words," Christine warns.

Aubrey gulps. He loves his job. He doesn't want to get fired.

"It's, um…" Jessica smooths down Aubrey's t-shirt that had ridden up her thigh, racking her brain for an explanation that's suitable for a three year old and an eight year old. Realising there probably isn't one, she settles for, "it's just kissing."

"Gross," Hank responds, scrunching up his nose in disgust. "What's for breakfast, Uncle Aubrey?"

Taken aback by the sudden gear change, it takes him a few moments to answer. "Um, there's cereal. Lucky Charms all right?"

"Lucky Charms are his favourite." Christine.

"Awesome. I'll go sort that out for you now. You guys go sit at the table." Aubrey places his coffee on the side table and heads into the kitchen. He gets out four bowls and four spoons, then pours Lucky Charms and milk into each bowl. He takes them to Christine, Hank and Jess at the table, grinning because this feels so… familial. Having breakfast in the morning with Jessica and two kids. Granted, he's only babysitting the mini-Booths for the weekend, but still. It feels nice being this domesticated with his girlfriend. Normally they're lucky if they can stuff a slice of toast in their mouths as they rush off to work. He likes this though and can't help but imagine how great it would feel with pint-sized versions of him and Jess sat opposite them.

 _Woah. Slow down, Aubrey. You're not even living with her yet._

"Aubrey?" Jessica's voice breaks him out of his reverie and his eyes widen. He didn't ear a word they just said to him.

"Um, what was that?"

"Christine wants to know what you're doing today," his girlfriend says, popping a spoonful of cereal in her mouth.

"We're going to the park!" Aubrey announces excitedly.

"Which one?" The eight year old questions while munching on her Lucky Charms.

"Hobart! They just upgraded all the old swings and slides and roundabouts and stuff so it's all brand new!"

"Didn't mommy and daddy find a dead guy there?"

"Well… Yes…"

"Is there a dead person there now?"

Aubrey's stalling. Christine is too smart for her own good sometimes.

"No," Jessica assures her, cutting into the conversation. She brushes Christine's hair out of her face and smiles softly. "There won't be any dead bodies, OK?"

"OK," Christine replies, but she still looks doubtful.

They all finish off their breakfast in relative silence and Christine clears the table, rinsing out the bowls and cups. Then, under instructions from Aubrey, Christine and Hank scramble away to get dressed.

"You changed your mind about going to the park?" He gives Jess what he hopes is an irresistible smile, however, it only leaves her shaking her head with mirth.

"Big, important dissertation. Can't fail. Want to be a forensic anthropologist, remember?"

"Right, got it. My girlfriend is a genius, better let her do her work." He stands up and kisses her cheek. "Movie night tonight."

"Move night tonight," she confirms, watching with adoration in her eyes as he follows in the children's footsteps to get ready for their morning outing.

It doesn't take him long to throw on some jeans, sneakers, a plaid shirt and a jacket and to pack a bag full of essential supplies. He leaves his room to find Christine and Hank waiting for him impatiently, raring to go. He shouts goodbye to Jess, then ushers them out of his apartment. They race down the stairwell, despite his warnings that they might fall and hurt themselves. He hurries after them and buckles them into the car.

"Why isn't pretty Jess coming to the park?" Hank asks, frowning in disappointment.

"She has work to do," Aubrey responds, hiding a smile. The little guy has, like, completely fallen in love with Aubrey's girlfriend. "She'll still be here when we get back, OK?"

"OK," Hank mutters reluctantly. He'd still prefer it if Jessica was coming with them and Aubrey can't blame him. She's the best. He wants to spend all his time with her, too.

Aubrey shuts the door and climbs into the drivers seat. He enters Hobart Park into the GPS, puts the car in reverse and away they go. He can hear Christine and Hank playing I Spy in the back seats and has to stifle his laughter at the hilarity of the situation.

(As the older sister, Christine gets to go first. That's The Rule, apparently. "I spy with my little eye something beginning with… A!"

"Apple! Anthropolologist! Airplane!"

Christine tsks disapprovingly. "It's anthro _polo_ gist, Hank. And it has to be something I can see!"

"Agent?" Aubrey tries, referring to himself.

"Nope! You give up?"

"Yes. Tell us!"

"Abdomen," Christine reveals, tickling Hank's stomach. "Since neither of you guessed it, it's my turn again. I spy with my little eye something beginning with… B!"

"Bus," Hank shouts enthusiastically, pointing out the window as they pass a bus.

"Nope, not that."

"Booth? Brother?"

"Babysitter?" Aubrey guesses.

"All wrong," Christine says smugly. "Bones!"

"You can't see bones and mommy's not here so that doesn't count!" Hank cries, aghast that his older sister would _dare_ to cheat in such an important game.

"It does count!"

"Does _not!"_

"Does _so_!"

"All right, all right," Aubrey says calmly, wanting to put a stop to the sibling back and forth before it escalates. "Hank can have a go since you've done two now, Christine."

She huffs, folding her arms across her chest. She does not approve of that decision.

"Yay! Thanks, Uncle Aubrey. OK, I spy with my little eye something that begins with… C!"

"Cars," Christine answers instantly. "My turn!"

"But- but-," Hank sputters, horrified at how quick his turn was compared to his sister's.

"Not my fault, Hank. Shouldn't make it so easy!"

"Christine… He is only three…"

"Not my fault," she says again, blistering on with her go. "I spy with my little eye something beginning with… D!"

Hank doesn't respond for a long time as he strains his neck to find something beginning with D. He's determined to beat his sister this time around so he ignores all of Aubrey's failed guesses and Christine's attempts to hurry him up. They pass a man with a stroller – _dad_? No, too easy… A beautiful golden retriever runs past – _dog_? No… Then he focuses on what the dog is running _through_ and knows he's got the correct answer. Alongside the road, there is a sea of bright yellow flowers… His mommy's favourite yellow flowers…

"Daffodils!"

"Yes! Well done, Hank!" Christine cheers proudly.

Aubrey smiles as he manages a glimpse back at them to see Christine fist bumping her little brother.)

They reach the letter N as Aubrey pulls into the parking lot and finds a space. Unsurprisingly Christine chooses a word neither he nor Hank has ever heard of: "Navicular." According to the little genius it's a bone in the foot. He still has no idea and decides to take her word for it.

He helps both kids out of the SUV and holds their hands tightly until they're safely across the road and then he lets them run free. The swing set is closest to them and is currently empty, so that's where they head first. Aubrey follows behind them, avoiding the kids that are running all over the place.

"Uncle Aubrey!" Christine calls. "You need to give me a push!"

Oh. Right.

He closes the distance between them and gives Christine a firm push, grinning as she soars through the air.

"Higher, higher!"

He pushes her a bit higher and then helps Hank out, who's watching his sister, agog.

"I don't want to go that high," he confesses quietly so only Aubrey can hear him. "Don't make me go that high."

"'Course I won't." He gives the three year old a much more gentle push. Hank giggles happily. This is enough for him.

They get bored after five minutes of swinging forwards and backwards and forwards and backwards so they sprint over to the monkey bars. Aubrey's eyes light up when he joins them. He used to _love_ the monkey bars when he was a kid. His mom always told him it was because he was an actual monkey and then he'd proceed to prance around like a chimpanzee, noises and all.

Christine goes first as per The Rule and she swings from bar to bar dead easily, clearly developing her physical acumen from her father, not her mother.

Hank struggles a bit more, but it's only because he's five years younger. Christine holds his legs as she helps him across and then they rush over to the slide without even letting Aubrey have ago. _The cheek of it!_

He waits for them at the bottom of the slide like the other parents seem to be doing and catches them when they reach the bottom.

"Wait here," he instructs them, preventing Christine from having another go. "It's my turn."

Christine looks between him and the slide cautiously. "Are you sure your butt's not too big?"

Resolutely ignoring the sniggering parents who heard her, he climbs to the top of the slide and waits behind a girl who can be no more than five who has a head of beautiful dark, curly hair. She sits at the top of the slide and pushes herself down with an excited "wheee!"

It's Aubrey's turn next.

He gets into position, waves at Hank and Christine standing at the bottom of the hill.

Like he'd just seen the five year old girl do, he pushes himself off and he begins to slide towards the mini-Booths.

So, OK, he's not going as fast as the children were.

And maybe the slide is a little tight for him, but it's fine. Gravity is lending him a helping hand, until…

Oh.

Oh no.

He eases to a halt, halfway down the slide.

He tries to push himself the rest of the way down, but it's not working. He's stuck. He's well and truly stuck.

His cheeks flaming hot, he yells down to Christine to come and assist him.

"Not yet, Uncle Aubrey! I gotta get a picture first! My dad would love this!" She yells back and, to add insult to injury, she does get out the disposable camera Brennan had given her to document their weekend. She points the camera at him, shoots, then pockets it and runs up the steps.

He can feel everybody's eyes on him as Christine slides down to him so she can push and Hank clampers up the slide so he can pull. It ends up being quite effective and he's loosened from his position, slowly easing himself to the bottom. He stands, brushing off his jeans and averting his gaze away from the amused gaggle of parents.

"How about we play tag?" He suggests. _I don't like the slide anymore._

"Sure. But just a warning: we're pretty good at tag, Uncle Aubrey." Christine.

"Yeah, mommy plays it with us all the time. And daddy. And we _always_ beat them!"

Aubrey neglects to mention that their parents are probably just going easy on them and letting them win, not wanting to spoil the proud expression on Hank's face.

"Game on, mini-Booths!" He runs up to Christine, taps her on the shoulder, shouts, "TAG" and sprints away to an open field behind the playground.

Christine follows, her pace blistering. Her hair is being blown wildly as she runs towards him and tags him on his back. "You're It!" She yells gleefully, dodging his attempts to tag her back. "You won't get me, Uncle Aubrey! I'm fast like a flea!"

 _Like a flea?_ What kind of simile is _that_? He furrows his brow for a second, then chases after an approaching Hank. The three year old darts in one direction, then dives in the other, evading capture. His speed is no match for the FBI agent though and Aubrey manages to tag him pretty quickly.

Now Hank is It, he hurtles towards his babysitter and, blind to the large rock in front of him, he tumbles to the floor. He feels his knee sting and glances down to see a sizeable cut on the joint, blood trailing down his shin. Tears prick his eyes as Aubrey and Christine rush towards him, the game forgotten.

"It's OK, buddy," Aubrey murmurs, kneeling beside Hank and wrapping his arms around him. "It's just a bit of blood. You're OK."

"Don't cry, Hank. Crying is for babies and you want to be a big boy, don't you?"

He nods feebly. He does want to be a big boy. It just hurts so bad…

Aubrey breaks into the handy bag of supplies he brought with him. Drinks, snacks, wipes, band-aids. He quickly cleans up the blood and then places one of his personal Super Cool Avengers band-aids over the cut on his knee. He kisses the injury and grins at the three year old. "All better?"

"Not yet," he pouts.

"Why not? What do we need to do to make you feel better?"

Hank hesitates then, when Aubrey's least expecting it, he jumps to his feet, tags his babysitter and runs away, giggling madly. Christine joins him and Aubrey just sits back on the grass. "Should have seen that coming," he grumbles.

* * *

They spend the rest of the day playing and, after a delicious dinner of Thai curry and rice, Aubrey collapses on the sofa next to Jess, completely exhausted.

"I am not moving my butt from this spot for the rest of the evening," he decides, accepting the beer his girlfriend hands him.

"Aww, poor baby. Did the little kids tire you out?"

"They have so much energy!" He cries, making Jess giggle. "Speaking of, where are the little tikes?"

"Spare bedroom. Agent Booth and Dr. B are on the phone."

Aubrey's lips turn up into a broad smile. "So we're alone?"

"For now, yes, we're alone," she replies, snuggling into his side. "What do you want to do with our alone time?"

"Oh, I'm sure I can think of a few ideas…" He leans in for a kiss, his eyes slipping shut, but jumps away from her as he hears the Booth children traipse into the living room.

"We want to watch a movie," Christine says, climbing into an unsuspecting Aubrey's lap.

"The Little Mermaid," Hank chirps, getting himself into a similar position, only on Jessica's lap, rather than Aubrey's.

The FBI agent groans inwardly because, _really_ , why did they have to pick The Little Mermaid? He wants to watch a badass action film like James Bond or Diehard, not a Disney musical about a half fish, half girl. He glances over at his girlfriend, fully expecting to her to be on his side, but his stomach sinks when he sees her wearing the same hopeful expression as Christine and Hank. "You want to watch The Little Mermaid?"

"Yeah, why not?"

"It's a children's film, it's a musical," he lists, ticking the reasons off on his fingers, "it's boring, it's my TV…"

"It's not boring!" Jessica defends hotly. "It's one of my favourite movies of all time."

"Seriously?" He raises an eyebrow sceptically.

" _Yes!_ " She has very fond memories of watching it on video with all her friends in the cooperative. They'd sing along to every song, gasp in horror when Ursula stole Ariel's voice and sigh contently when Ariel and Eric got married and could finally have their happily ever after.

"It's the best, Uncle Aubrey," Christine tries. "You'll love it."

"I can guarantee you that I will not."

"It's an old movie," Jess says enticingly, turning her persuasive eyes on him. "And you love old movies."

He acquiesces that he does prefer old classics, like black-and-white heist movies instead of the overrated, repetitive Hollywood blockbusters of today. He's already sick of seeing Benedict Cumberbatch and his ridiculous name on every. single. movie. billboard.

"And this is my most favourite Disney film. I always used to think I was just like Ariel when I was younger because of the hair; I want to share the experience of watching the movie I love most with the person I love most."

Damn.

"Did you ever consider being a saleswoman over an anthropologist?" He asks, resigning to the fact that they're going to watch this terrible movie just because he can't say no to his beautiful girlfriend.

"No, but perhaps I should have," she responds gleefully, switching on the film and leaning back on the sofa to get comfortable. "You'll love it," she assures him.

"If you say so."

He grimaces as Jess presses play and the screen bursts to life with a sequence of bright colours and music that he's the only one that doesn't know. He watches as a lobster – who can apparently speak and has a Jamaican accent, _obviously_ – gathers all the fish in the sea. The premise of the story is fairly simply, a sixteen year old mermaid falls in love with the idea of being a human and with a handsome prince named Eric. An evil octopus villainess grants her wish to become human and magically her tail transforms into legs and feet. Aubrey rolls his eyes at the ridiculousness of it all.

Christine, Jessica and even Hank are all entranced by it; their eyes never drift from the screen for a second. He can't believe they're buying this.

Although he has to admit, as the plot unfolds, the lobster and the Flounder _are_ quite funny and, he supposes, if we were being completely truthful, that the music _is_ pretty good.

By the time the wedding arrives and it looks like Eric is set to marry a disguised Ursula, Aubrey is on the edge of his seat. He can't believe this. He can't believe Eric is going to marry her when he really loves _Ariel._

Catching Christine's eyes on him, he clears his throat, embarrassed. "What?"

"Have you proposed to Jess yet?"

The redhead, who'd just been taking a sip of her beer, begins to sputter violently at Christine's nonchalant question.

Aubrey's cheeks flame red.

He can't _believe_ she just did that to him.

He claps a still-choking Jess on the back while averting his gaze, mortified at the way the mini-Booth had just dropped him right in it.

"You said you loved her and wanted to marry her and were going to propose," Christine says, bewildered as to what she'd done wrong.

"You were going to propose?" Jess asks him earnestly, her breath caught in her throat.

He pauses the movie – much to Hank's frustration – and turns to her, his face serious, his eyes full of love. "Yes," he confesses, his tone somewhat nervous. "I, uh, have a ring that I've been carrying around for the past two weeks, waiting for the perfect moment to surprise you with it. Didn't think watching The Little Mermaid with our bosses' children would be it, to be honest."

She shakes her head, her eyes filling with moisture. "It is perfect. Do it."

He gently pushes Christine off him and lifts Hank from Jessica's lap, too. He sinks to one knee, ignoring Christine's excited gasp in the background and shyly removes a velvet ring box from his jacket pocket. He opens up the box and Jess breaks their tender gaze to look at the diamond ring he'd spent hours trying to find for her. The design is only small, simple, but he thinks it's perfect. Just like her.

"Go on then," Christine urges.

"Right," he chuckles softly, his eyes locking onto Jessica's. "I, uh, had this whole speech planned out, a big romantic gesture, but now we're here I've forgotten everything I was going to say." He pauses briefly, collecting his thoughts, then continues, stumbling over his words. "Jessica Warren, I love you. You make me happier than I could have ever imagined. Would you do me the honour of becoming my wife?"

She nods, tears sliding down her cheeks. "Yes! Of course! _Yes!"_

He laughs, pure, unadulterated happiness overwhelming him.

She surges forward impatiently, unable to wait for him to make the next move and kisses him passionately, her hands cupping his cheeks.

"We're engaged," he says, awe-struck.

"We are." She kisses him again, but before they can take things any further, Christine practically jumps on him in celebration, Hank following in his big sister's footsteps. Aubrey can't wipe the grin from his face.

He's _engaged_.

* * *

After taking their order, the waitress departs, leaving Booth and Brennan alone at the small table at the back of the restaurant. Booth raises his glass, encouraging his wife to do the same.

"To us, Bones," he says, clinking their glasses together and taking a sip of Merlot.

"To us," she repeats, her voice soft, her expression tender and full of admiration. "I'm glad we came on this trip, Booth."

"So am I. It's been pretty great, right? Spending time just the two of us in a beautiful hotel in a beautiful city, no children to constantly interrupt us."

"While I love Christine and Hank more than anything, I have to admit, the quiet has been nice. I could get used to it."

"I love them, too, Bones, but we need time alone as a couple, you know?"

"I do know," she responds. "Perhaps we'll have to arrange more trips like this in the future. Paris would be nice. Or Venice. Or perhaps a beautiful cottage in the English countryside…"

"They all sound amazing."

"Speaking of amazing," she shoots him a dreamy smile, "you look very handsome tonight, Booth."

"Oh, really? I'm just wearing this old thing." He glances down at his open-collared blue dress shirt that he'd selected specifically because he knows his wife adores the colour on him.

"Well it makes you look even more attractive than usual," she flirts, her eyes sparkling. "I can't wait to return to our hotel room this evening and take it off you."

He puffs out his chest, loving how much she appreciates him. He's getting old, small lines are forming at the corners of his eyes and he's having to train harder than ever to stay in shape. Brennan doesn't care though. His wife tells him how hot she thinks he is all the time and he easily returns the sentiment.

Brennan is the most beautiful woman he's ever seen in his life. And he's not being bias just because she's his wife and the mother of his children – she's absolutely _gorgeous_.

Take tonight, for example. She's wearing a low-cut red dress that sinches in at her waist, then flows to just below her knees à la Roxie Scallion from that underground boxing case. Her hair and make-up look amazing (as per usual) and the heart-shaped pendant she wears around her neck finishes off the look perfectly. No matter how many times he sees her dressed up like this, he'll never get over how good she looks, how lucky he is to be her husband.

"I can't wait to return to our hotel room either." As he's about to lean across the table and press his lips to hers, his phone beeps obnoxiously with an incoming text. "Dammit. I'm so sorry, Bones, I thought I turned the stupid thing off."

"It's OK. Is it the kids? Is everything all right over there? Is Aubrey's apartment on fire?" Her eyes widen in worry.

A soft smile forms on his face as he reads the message. "No, no, nothing like that."

"What is it then?" She questions, furrowing her brow.

He turns his phone around so Brennan can see the screen and a smile spreads across her face, too, as she sees the picture Booth had been sent. It's a picture of Aubrey and Jessica, the latter holding up her hand to show off the diamond now proudly sitting on her ring finger. The photograph of their two beaming co-workers is accompanied by a message that reads "WE'RE ENGAGED" (written all in caps lock and followed by twenty exclamation marks).

Booth types back a message of congratulations, then switches off his phone, not wanting to disrupt their date night again.

"I find I am very happy for Aubrey and Miss Warren, even if the timing is a bit odd, what with our children there," Brennan comments.

"Christine was probably the one to encourage him," Booth replies, chuckling at the thought of his daughter's incessant remarks about Aubrey's love life. "She's being going on about being bridesmaid for them for weeks."

His wife smiles warmly. "Christine will make an excellent bridesmaid."

Booth's mind drifts to seeing their little girl walk down the aisle at their wedding and again at Cam and Arastoo's. "Hank will make an adorable ring bearer, too."

"If they choose them."

"I don't think they're going to get much choice with Christine involved, Bones."

Brennan laughs, her whole face lighting up. "No, I suppose they won't."

"Do you remember her reaction to us getting engaged the second time?" Booth questions, reminiscing.

"She was so excited," Brennan replies, casting her thoughts back to one of the happiest moments of her life. Pelant was dead – not longer able to harm anyone else – Booth asked her to marry him and the whole team went out for a celebratory drink at the Founding Fathers. Before that, though, they'd gone home to see their baby girl and tell her the Big News. Christine had been over the moon and gave them a million hugs and kisses, probably just glad her home life would return to how it was before Pelant had meddled with their happiness.

"Yeah, she was," he muses, reaching for her hand and covering it with his over the table, tracing the pad of his thumb over her skin. "I hope Aubrey and Jessica will be as happy as we are."

Brennan's expression softens. "I love you, Booth."

"I love you more, Bones."

* * *

Aubrey gently closes the door to his guest room, wary not to wake the kids. It had taken some time for them to calm down after the excitement of the evening and getting them to fall asleep was even harder. He texted Angela, unsure what to do, and she'd swiftly replied with her maternal words of wisdom.

 _Two words_ , she'd typed _, warm. milk._

Annoyingly he'd had to pop to the store on the corner and get a new carton as all of his had run out. When he'd returned, he heated up the liquid and poured it into two mugs for Christine and Hank. Just like magic, as they sipped at the drink, their eyelids began to droop and Aubrey could carry them to bed without resistance.

He pauses outside the bedroom, listening for any sign of them waking, but all he can hear is Christine snoring. Feeling a sudden buzz of excitement about the activities the rest of the evening has in store, he hurries into his own room. His jaw drops open at the sight before him.

Jessica, adorned in a low-cut black teddy, is stretched out seductively, accentuating her assets, her beautiful red hair splayed over the white pillows.

"You look…" Unable to form words, he shows her. He crawls up to her, removing his shirt as fast as he can. Jess grabs it from him and tosses it onto the floor where her own clothes have been strewn. She makes quick work of his belt buckle and pulls his pants down, leaving him in just his underwear.

Her eyes raking over his toned body, she pokes her tongue out of her mouth to dampen her dry lips. "You look so hot, Superman."

He smirks and presses his lips to hers. With his fiancée fervently kissing him back, he peels off her teddy and begins to trail kisses down her chest. Jessica mewls and throws back her head in pleasure, but before he's able to zero in on the grand prize, the bedroom door creaks open and Hank's cherubic face peeks through the gap.

"Oh my God!"

Jessica pushes him off her and they both scramble beneath the covers, horrified that their bosses' young son has just caught Jess naked and Aubrey in his Superman boxers and socks, the two of them about to have sex. He makes a space almost as wide as the Grand Canyon between them, his cheeks burning and all arousal well and truly gone.

After her initial panic, the anthropologist manages to find the humour in the situation where Aubrey cannot. Turning to the little boy in the Flyers PJs, she asks him what he's doing up this late at night (and interrupting their post-engagement sex, she thinks to herself.)

"Nightmares," comes his simple response as he fists the hem of his top.

"Oh."

"When I have bad dreams at home mommy and daddy let me sleep with them."

 _Oh_.

Aubrey shares an uneasy look with Jessica. Wouldn't it be weird for the three year old to just climb into bed with them? They're not even related…

The redhead raises a questioning brow as if to say "why not?" and invites the youngest Booth to sleep with them, much to Aubrey's abject disagreement. For one, their bed isn't big enough for three; two, he still finds it weird and inappropriate, and three, they just got engaged, for goodness sake! Hank sleeping between them isn't exactly how he imagined his romantic engagement night would go.

The object of Aubrey's discomfort climbs onto the bed and crawls underneath he covers. Closing his eyes, he rests his head on Aubrey's chest – just as he would to Booth – and lets the rhythmic beating of his heart send him back to sleep.

Aubrey's eyes widen at the development, glancing at Jess.

She tosses him a sweet smile, wishing she could document the moment, but afraid the camera's flash would disturb the sleeping toddler. She settles for imprinting the image in her mind so she can access it up until the day they have little ones of their own. "You look so cute," she whispers.

Aubrey blushes bashfully. "Thanks. And, hey, I'm sorry tonight didn't work out, but we'll celebrate properly tomorrow night when the kids have gone home, OK?"

"I'll hold you to that one, future husband." She plants a scorching kiss on his lips that leaves him desperate for more, however, not wanting to be arrested, she pulls away, nodding at Hank.

Aubrey sighs dejectedly. He really hates past-Aubrey for volunteering himself for babysitting duty.

 _How many hours until Booth and Brennan get back to DC?_

* * *

Light bursting through the curtains forces Aubrey from a wonderful dream about him and Jessica dancing together at their wedding reception, their friends and family all around them. It was so perfect. There was champagne and toasts and everyone was laughing and having a good time. There had even been a large buffet which left the groom drooling. Aubrey silently hopes Jess doesn't want a long engagement because if it were up to him they'd be married in a week and enjoying a real all you can eat buffet that doesn't fade away when he opens his eyes.

As he begins to regain consciousness, he can see Hank still tucked into his side, but he can also feel an unfamiliar weight atop his feet. Rubbing at his eyes, he carefully re-positions Hank and sits up, finding Christine tightly wrapped in a blanket at the end of the bed. She must have joined them after he'd fallen asleep, he thinks ruefully, contemplating installing a lock on his bedroom door for the next time he babysits.

He nudges the girl awake, saying in a soft voice, "come on, monkey, you need to get ready for school."

She groans and shuts her eyes again, but Aubrey prods her with his sock-clad foot until she concedes and rolls off the bed.

Hank wakes up automatically at the movement, however, Jessica, who is an incredibly deep sleeper, takes a little more encouragement. He tells the kids to go get dressed while he sweeps Jess' tangled hair out of the way he wakes her with kisses to her forehead, cheeks, lips, and nose.

Her eyelids eventually flutter open and, as she focuses on her new fiancé, a smile grows on her face. "Morning," she mumbles, still groggy.

"Morning, beautiful," he replies, kissing her again. "I'm afraid we've got to get up and go to work."

"No!"

"Back to the daily grind."

She scrunches up her nose in disgust.

"You kind of don't have a choice, babe, as I don't think you want Cam to fire you."

Her look of disgust morphs into a pout that he quickly kisses away.

"Think of all the engagement sex we'll have tonight to get you through the day." He flashes her a persuasive charm smile he learned from the best (AKA Deputy Director Seeley J Booth).

"Fine," she huffs. "But only because you promised me the amazing sex."

He grins at her as they slip out of their bed, straighten the covers and fix the pillows. He never used to do that before Jessica; he never saw the purpose in making the bed if he was just going to mess it up again in a few hours anyway. His girlfriend – now fiancée – made him see that the whole room seems tidier if the bed covers aren't crumpled in a pile and that it only takes 30 seconds if they do it together. He does it everyday now, even when she isn't with him, and he has to admit that it is a good morning habit to get into. He guesses she's changed him for the better in all sorts of ways and vice versa and he thinks that is what love is about.

They shower and get dressed and then run into the kitchen where Christine and Hank are waiting expectantly for their food.

Aubrey and Jess work around each other with practiced ease as he prepares a quick breakfast of Lucky Charms and orange juice, while Jess prepares four lunches of peanut butter and jelly sandwiches with chips and an apple each as she knows Dr. Brennan likes her kids to eat (somewhat) healthily.

They all devour the cereal at a supersonic speed – running late, _again_ – before they're racing out of the apartment and to his FBI issued SUV in the parking lot. He buckles Hank into his car seat and climbs into the front, driving away as fast as he can without causing a collision.

First, he drops Jess and Hank at the Jeffersonian where she will take the little guy to daycare, before starting her shift identifying remains in bone storage. He winds his window down and pecks her lips, ignoring the sound of Christine pretending to retch in the backseat. "Bye. I love you!"

"I love you, too," she calls back, grabbing Hank by the hand before he can run into the road.

He pulls away from the two of them, rolling his window back up and glancing at Christine. "What was that horrible sound for, mini-Booth?"

"Kissing is gross. I should know - my mum and dad do it all the time."

"That's because they love each other," he explains, amused.

"Still." She falls silent, staring out the window as they travel towards her school.

"You know, one day you'll want to kiss people, too," Aubrey says teasingly, delighting at the horrified expression that appears on Christine's face. "Maybe you'll even like it."

"I don't know about _that_ , Uncle Aubrey," she responds prissily. "Daddy said I'm his girl and nobody else will ever be good enough for me."

"Figures," he chuckles. God help the boy or girl Christine does decide to date. Dealing with an overprotective FBI agent father with a deadly aim will not be easy.

They spend the rest of the journey in silence, with only the quiet sounds of the radio newsreader to be heard. He drops her off outside her school, checks the time and realises just how late he really is. Aubrey presses his food down on the gas pedal and speeds away once Christine is safely inside.

Fortunately, the Hoover Building is only a short distance away from Christine's school, so in almost no time at all he's sprinting up the stairs, desperate not to miss his early morning briefing. The higher ups at the Bureau would not be impressed. Sweat makes his shirt cling to his skin as he takes two steps at a time, scrambling into the meeting a cool 15 minutes late.

"Agent Aubrey, what time do you call this?" Bradshaw – his boss – demands, glaring at the sweat-soaked younger agent.

"Sorry, sir," he apologises, flustered. "I'm babysitting Agent Booth's kids for him and I didn't realise how long it would take this morning."

Bradshaw's stern expression turns sympathetic. "I have three kids myself, I understand mornings can be chaotic. I'll let you off just this once, but don't let it happen again."

Aubrey blows out a breath of relief. "Thank you, sir."

"Of course. Now about the triple homicide last night…"

* * *

Feeling very out of place as he sits amongst a sea of students and future squints, Booth straightens his shirt self-consciously. Brennan had asked him whether he wanted to explore the city alone or come to the lecture at McGill with her and he'd obviously picked the latter. Spending time with his wife trumps all else, even if he does have to sit next to nerdy-looking college students in ugly cardigans and badly fitting slacks.

He focuses on Brennan as she delivers her presentation and he tries to understand what she's saying – he really does – but the science goes right over his head. He settles for admiring her beauty and poise as she points out something or other on a graph. Her silky smooth hair frames her stunning facial features and the neckline of her dress draws his attention to her sensational chest.

He's clearly not the only one to notice.

"Dude, she is _so_ hot," a male voice from behind Booth mutters, whistling lowly.

Booth listens uncomfortably as his friend chimes in with a lewd comment about how he bets Brennan is amazing in the bedroom. Furious that they are disrespecting her, he turns around and glares at the floppy haired boys. While he has first hand knowledge of how amazing Brennan is in the bedroom (and in the tub, and on the kitchen floor and atop the washing machine), they have no right to objectify her like that.

He hears them whisper "what's his deal?" a few minutes later once he's facing his wife again and clenches his jaw, managing to block out their incessant chatter in order to give Brennan the full attention she deserves. It doesn't matter what a couple of teenagers think anyway because he's the lucky guy who gets to be her husband and raise their kids with her.

As he watches her talk so passionately about the human skeleton, he can't help but think back to the first time they met. He'd walked in on her delivering a lecture at American University and he'd immediately been struck by how attractive he found her. Not just physically, but also the way she spoke so intelligently about her subject… he'd fond her squint speak very, very appealing.

(And still does.)

Brennan finishes up her lecture and, like that first day, he approaches her confidently, flashing her a winning smile. "You were great up there, Bones!"

"Yeah? So you didn't fall asleep this time?" She sys playfully, nudging him with her shoulder.

He laughs, wrapping an arm around her waist. "Not at all."

"And did you understand any of it?"

"Not one bit. But you sounded smart."

"Thank you. Ready to go home?"

"God yes," he responds without hesitation as they follow the students out of the lecture theatre. He catches the surprised faces of the boys who'd been talking about Brennan and pulls her closer to his side, smirking at them. "Don't get me wrong, Bones, I've loved spending this weekend away with you but I really miss the kids now."

Brennan sighs, relieved she's not the only one who was missing Hank and Christine like crazy. "So do I. We probably ought to relieve Aubrey of his babysitting duties, too, so he and Miss Warren can consummate their recent betrothal."

"Ew. No. Gross. Don't wanna think about _that_."

Brennan rolls her eyes at his prudish reaction. "It's completely normal behaviour, Booth. After couples make the huge decision to get married it's only natural for them to want to celebrate through intercourse. Unless, of course, they're religious and waiting until marriage.. although you're a good Catholic boy and we engaged in pre-martial sex on _many_ occasions."

The tips of his ears turn red at the very personal turn the conversation has taken in a very public space. He shushes her ineffectually.

"Do you remember how we celebrated our engagement, Booth?" Her eyes dance with delight. "As I recall, that was an extremely satisfying evening…"

"Yeah, you slept well after that." He beams at her as they head towards the hotel to pick up their bags where they'll catch a taxi to the Montréal-Trudeau in an hour. "Come on, Dr Brennan. Let's get you home so you can remind me _alll_ about that night."

* * *

The car is still moving when a restless Brennan jumps out, itching to see the kids. leaving Booth to finish parking the car. She sprints up the stairs as fast as she can. Her husband, with his military-trained body, is able to catch up to her as they make their way down the hallway towards Aubrey's apartment. Brennan knocks on his front door and feels her excitement grow at the sound of her children's eager voices on the other side.

"Come on, Aubrey! Open up!" Booth yells because he's super excited about seeing their kids, too, even though it's only been a few days since they parted. He's found that, after Brennan and Christine went on the run and he was locked up in prison, he can't bare to be away from his family for long stints of time anymore. He loves them all too much.

Finally, the door unlocks and Aubrey opens it wide, greeting his former partner and his former partner's wife with a warm grin, but they're paying no attention to him.

"Mommy!" Christine squeals, basically flinging herself at Brennan and clutching on to her for dear life.

"Hey, buddy," Booth exclaims, lifting his younger son into his arms and hugging him tightly, smattering a few errant kisses to his crown. "Did you have a good weekend?"

"It was awesome!"

"We missed you, though," Christine adds.

"We missed you, too," Brennan promises, kissing her forehead. "We love you so much."

"Oh. Speaking of love, congratulations, man. We're really happy for you."

"Indeed. Where is Miss Warren?"

"Thanks. We're really happy, too. She's just doing some extra work before our… uh…" He clears his throat, flushing hot. " _Celebrations_ this evening?" He finishes meekly.

"Right. 'Celebrations.' Have fun."

"We will." Quickly changing the subject to Christine and Hank, he tells the parents that they've been as good as gold and he'd be happy to look after them again if Booth and Brennan are ever struggling to find childcare.

"That's very sweet of you, Aubrey," Brennan says, impressed.

He shrugs. "I'm a sweet guy."

"Is that why pretty Jess kept taking your clothes off? Because you're sweet?" Christine asks innocently.

Aubrey's pupils dilate, his whole body turning a deep shade of red. He risks a glance at his boss who, surprise, surprise, looks beyond angry.

"What do you mean, sweetheart?" Brennan.

"I had a bad dream and I went into their room and they were naked," Hank explains, giggling madly at the word "naked" which all children apparently find hilarious.

Aubrey wants to die. Convenient, considering the murderous glare in Booth's eyes. He knows the Deputy Director wouldn't hesitate to shoot him right now, so Aubrey attempts to get himself out of the deep hole Christine and Hank have dropped him in. "They were aslee-."

"Save it," Booth orders. "Let's go."

Brennan follows her husband out of the apartment building. She can feel the fury radiating off him and begins planning a bubble bath and Thai massage for the evening to calm him down. Her touch always manages to work wonders on his sometimes volatile temper.

"Are you mad, daddy?" Christine questions, chewing on her lower lip. "We didn't mean to get Uncle Aubrey in trouble. We love him!"

Booth doesn't respond, silently seething.

"You can't be mad at him, daddy! He has Superman boxers, just like your Captain America ones!"

 **I wanted to post this ASAP so any mistakes I've missed in the editing process are all my fault.**

 **Leave a review? (And sorry again about the wait, I'll try to be better with the next chapter but I can't promise anything – Uni has to be a priority).**


End file.
